The Scholar and the Scribe
by eleanorc
Summary: Modern A/U: Edith Crawley has recently moved to Dublin for her post-grad studies, and calls on one Dr. Strallan, an old friend of her father's. He proves to be a good ally (and possibly more) through her ups and downs, including trouble with her family, her writing, and a certain Prof. Gregson. (All characters belong to Mr. Fellowes) Full credit to Jo for the idea!
1. The First Day of My Life

Edith glanced at her mobile again, neurotically checking the office location for the hundredth time. Reaching the third floor, she slowed her pace, willing her heart to stop racing. She hated this, hated meeting new people and trying to be cool and collected, hated doing her father a favor, even if it could help her in the long run.

She was glad to find the hallway completely deserted, lit only by the yellow and green light filtering through the great stain glass window at the end. There was a reverence demanded by this building, by the age and the beauty of it. Edith had felt it the moment she stepped from the cobblestone walk onto the great marble stairs of the entry.

Something, though she wasn't sure yet what it was specifically, assured her she had come to the right place. Dublin was the place Edith would finally find what she had spent her whole existence searching for, whatever it was. Always just half a step out of synch with her life, Edith had never before been sure of anything but that she didn't quite belong. But now, something about this school—the ancient wood and atmospheric stone buildings, about the little apartment she'd rented for herself between the college district and Old Town with creaky wood floors—something told her she was going to find what she'd been missing.

Edith caught her reflection as she passed a large glass case. It was filled with bronze busts of the department's legends. _As if I needed a reminder of my ineptitude_, she scoffed.

Edith didn't waste much time examining her pale face, dark eyes, and braided strawberry hair, or the simple cream silk blouse and gray cardigan she was wearing. It was the same disappointing reflection she'd seen her whole life—slight, plain, too thin to be womanly and too short to be statuesque. No, there was no point in staring at herself. After twenty-four years she knew what she looked like.

Edith moved on, her old brown riding boots padding down the hall, her stomach in knots. There was no earthly reason to be nervous. She'd gotten her degree with honors, and had been accepted to her dream graduate school. She'd somehow broken from her parents and gotten herself to Dublin on her own, to study writing, which she loved more than practically anything in the world. Surely, after all that, calling on an old friend of her father's—the last of many, many obligations fulfilled on behalf of her stuffy family—would be no problem.

But it was Edith, and she knew herself well enough to expect the next twenty minutes would be filled with stuttering, blushing, involuntary evasion of eye-contact, and nervous laughter.

Yes, Edith Crawley hated meeting new people.

When she finally came to a stop before office number 314, she took a steadying breath and knocked. "Come in," called a rather vacant and indifferent voice.

The office, compared with the hazy light and dark wood of the hall, was unexpectedly bright and cheerful. It had high ceilings lined with windows which let a great deal of sun into the relatively small space. To the left an entire wall was made of built-in shelving, lined floor to ceiling with books, and on the right were a collection of filing cabinets and an antique desk of modest size. Directly ahead two comfortable looking chairs were set around a little round end table and a well-worn rug covered nearly the entire floor.

But all of that was secondary to the man standing before the shelves, two leather-bound volumes in his hands. He was tall and a bit lanky, but broad and somehow imposing. He had a slight stoop, a habit likely picked up after a lifetime of being taller than everyone in the room. He wore slacks and a blue shirt with a neutral cardigan that looked impossibly soft. His hair had a curl to it which, despite its being gray-blonde, gave him a sort of disheveled, boyish quality. Most striking of his visage were the brilliant blue eyes, like sea glass, that glanced up distractedly from his reading and landed on Edith.

"Hello," Dr. Anthony Strallan said brightly, with a surprised but pleasant smile.

"Hello, I'm Edith Crawley," she said shyly, wishing this man, like everyone else in Dublin, could have no idea what it meant that she was a Crawley.

"Oh are you really? How delightful, yes," he stuttered quietly. His voice, though soft-spoken, was deep and rich. "Well, do come in, please. Would you like a cup?"

"Yes, alright. Thank you," she replied stiffly.

Anthony gestured for her to take a seat as he moved to the little electric kettle on the window sill.

"I was surprised to hear from your father. It's been far too long."

"Yes, he was less uncomfortable with my moving when he remembered he had a friend in Dublin," she said awkwardly, feeling as though neither party really knew why they were meeting.

"Well, how are you settling in?" he asked, handing Edith a mug of tea and taking the chair across from her. He was all limbs as his long legs crossed elegantly before him, looking far too large for the chair. Edith, meanwhile, had never felt smaller.

"Very well, thank you. I've only been here a few days, but everything is lovely, really. I have a tiny flat on the edge of Old Town with a hotplate and a view of the alley, and I couldn't be happier."

"Did your parents bring you over?"

Edith shook her head and frowned. "I thought you knew my father," she scoffed. "He wouldn't step foot over here because it wasn't his idea for me to come." Dr. Strallan raised his eyebrows, and Edith immediately felt out of line. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

"Not at all. I take it your coming to Dublin didn't have strictly to do with the school?"

"Not entirely."

"In need of a change of scenery, hmm?"

"More like a change of people," Edith muttered, blushing into her tea. She was quite happy to find that her shoulders weren't tense, and her palms weren't clammy, and she wasn't dying to leave.

"And how is your family?"

"They're fine. The same, I'm sure. Papa must be getting bored because he's started growing grapes on one of the properties in hopes of making a decent red blend, but he's the only one who thinks it stands a chance. Granny is still terrorizing the neighborhood, of course. Sybil is at university, and Mary's just been married." Edith was used to listing off her family's endeavors, as they were almost always the only reason people talked to her.

"Yes I did hear something about that. Congratulations. Do you like the fellow?"

"I do, actually, though I wonder how he'll hold up in our family. A bit soft for our type, I think." Feeling as though she might have been a bit too honest, a common problem for Edith, she blushed. "Sorry, I don't know why I said that."

Anthony shrugged as though her apology was totally unnecessary. "When I was in school with your father, he used to complain about his parents, how pernicious his mother was with her 'old money' ways, and how he would never take over their land. Funny, really. He used to say they were nothing more than glorified farmers."

"He doesn't seem to mind it now," Edith laughed.

"Indeed. Well, at least you've had the nerve to make up your own mind, hmm?"

Edith blushed again, looking around the room. Dr. Strallan taught literature at the college, specializing in the Victorian and romantic eras. Judging by the framed picture of Oscar Wilde that sat on one of his shelves, he had a special fondness for the enigmatic playwright.

"You're in the writing program, aren't you?" Dr. Strallan asked. "Have you met with your portfolio advisor yet?"

"No, I meet with him next week. I've been assigned to," she paused with a frown, trying to remember, "Professor Gregson?"

"Ah," Dr. Strallan said curtly. "Well, he's good at the editing side, from what I'm told." Something in his general manner made Edith wonder what history Gregson and Strallan had, because Dr. Strallan clearly was not a fan.

"Should I be worried?" she asked with a small, nervous laugh.

"Oh, of course not," he smiled, his eyes snapping back to hers. "Say, I haven't been on the advising side of things for years, so I'm quite alone here most of the time. If you'd like a quiet place to write or study, you're more than welcome here."

Edith was surprised by his offer. "Here, as in your office? It wouldn't be terribly intrusive?"

"Oh, terribly," he teased dryly, "but I'm afraid I insist."

"Thank you, Dr. Strallan, that would be lovely."

"Good," Dr. Strallan nodded, "and please call me Anthony."

"Anthony," Edith repeated shyly. "I was surprised when Papa mentioned he had a friend up here. Have you lived in Dublin long?"

"Oh, I suppose it's been about ten years now. I was also looking for a change, and cushy teaching jobs are hard to come by," he smiled.

"Have you always taught?"

Anthony nodded. "Yes. My father wanted me to take over the family company manufacturing farming equipment, but I'm afraid I inherited my mother's love for reading and none of his head for business. Young man by the name of Barrow runs it now, and I'm happy just to receive the occasional stock report."

Edith smiled at the idea of Dr. Strallan behind a desk or in front of a great board, a suit and tie and a severe look as he discussed the annual sales.

"Ridiculous to imagine, sitting here, isn't it?" he laughed, apparently reading her mind.

"You have a lovely collection of books," Edith complemented, craning her neck to examine some of the spines.

"Bit of a hoarder, I'm afraid. You're welcome to borrow them any time."

Edith took a deep breath as she thanked him, wondering how she could have been so nervous to meet such a kind and personable man. She had a feeling it would be nearly impossible to be uncomfortable in his presence, even for someone as socially inept as she.

When they finished their tea and said goodbye, Anthony offered to show Edith around the city the following day, which she accepted gladly.

"It can be a bit daunting, not knowing anyone, I realize. It would be my pleasure," he assured.

"Thank you, Dr. Strallan," she said, ducking through the door.

"Anthony," he replied with a smile, "please."

Later that night, as she unpacked another of her boxes, this one containing the books of her childhood she couldn't bear to leave behind, her mobile sounded. She was relieved to see it was Anna calling and not her mother for the hundredth time.

"Hello," she sighed, sitting back in the middle of her bare floor.

"Don't sound so excited, really," Anna teased by way of greeting.

"I'm very happy to hear from you, just exhausted as well."

"I wanted to check in, see how everything is going."

"Oh, still fine. More than fine, I think."

"Happiness takes some getting used to, eh?" Anna asked sagely.

Of all the people in the world, Anna was probably the only one who really knew Edith, or at least attempted to understand her. A few years older, they had been roommates in London while Edith was at university and Anna was working as a manager at a small hotel.

Edith was about to answer when she heard Anna let out an "oomph."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm moving too, remember? John and I are hauling more boxes into the new flat."

"Ah, wedded bliss," Edith said mordantly. Anna had recently been married to John Bates, who worked for Papa at Crawley Properties. They were the kind of couple that most everyone envied, not because of looks or status, but because they genuinely adored everything about one another. Edith harassed Anna for it endlessly, but really found it quite admirable.

"Yeah, you should try it."

"Tell John he still owes me twenty quid for introducing you two," Edith teased.

"John, Edie says she's misses you like mad."

"I think he's a daft old prig."

"She wishes she'd gotten to you first."

Edith heard John mumble something along the lines of 'it's not too late,' causing Anna to giggle and mutter, "Silly beggar."

"Anyway, how do you like the new flat?" Edith asked, bringing Anna's attention back.

"Oh it'll be great once I can sway John on the apricot color for the entry."

"Good luck with that."

"And you? Tell me you've got plans to go out with some young, Irish ruffians? A night of debauchery in the works?"

"Anna, have you met me?"

"Well are you at least meeting people?"

"I met with Papa's friend, Anthony Strallan," Edith said casually, working hard to steady her breath.

Anna seemed to hear the blushing smile over the phone though. "Oh? That old mate of your dad's? I take it the meeting was pleasant?"

"It was, yes. He's incredibly kind. And he's offered me some work space in his office."

"Huh," Anna chirped knowingly. It was quiet on the line for a long while.

"Look, he's a really kind person, and very likeable. I think he's going to be a good friend here. He's taking me out tomorrow to show me around the city."

"Well that figures," Anna laughed.

"What does?"

"That the one and only friend you find is twice your age and probably just as bookish. Is he handsome?"

"Anna, I've got to run, someone's at the door," Edith fibbed.

"There's no one at the door, Edie."

"There is. I'll call you later."

"No you won't!"

"Bye."

Edith silenced her mobile before setting it on the table. She spent a while longer unpacking, everything feeling more permanent with each book she shelved and each picture she hung.

As she laid down for bed the stillness and the silence settled in. As with most nights, her mind suddenly began to race. She looked up at the bare ceiling, then at the space beside her. Not for the first time she longed that someone would be in that empty space, sleeping lightly, or holding her hand, or listening to her little anxieties and hopes. When she imagined this man before it had always been a faceless amalgam of traits and feelings.

But on that particular night, when her head rolled on the pillow to look at the ghost of her loneliness stretched out beside her, he took the form, quite clearly, of Dr. Anthony Strallan, complete with blue eyes and crooked grin and sincere goodness.

Edith had imagined it effortlessly before she even knew what was happening, before she realized she was grinning like a fool at nothing and her cheeks were flushed. Admonishing her lack of self-control and horrified by the warm pang thrumming inside her at the thought of Dr. Strallan between her sheets, Edith turned on her bedside lamp. Knowing full well she would not be sleeping soon, she moved to the little desk she had set up under the window.

Her manuscript lay in a tidy pile, bound with two thick rubber bands. She eyed it with the wonder of a new mother at her child, asking _Did that really come from me?_ Unable to bear the thought of looking at any part of it again, she took out a clean, hard-bound journal, dated the first page, and began with the words:

_Dublin. Today is the first day of my life._


	2. A Walk in the Park

Edith's feet were aching, but she didn't dare complain. It was a small price to pay for what had turned out to be one of the best days she'd ever had. Nothing overly exciting happened, there were no extraordinary events or sights, but Edith had just walked what must have been the entire span of Dublin and back with Dr. Anthony Strallan, and they had never run out of things to say.

"It's the cobblestones," Anthony said quietly, coming up to the bench where Edith was waiting. He handed her a coffee and took a seat beside her. They were in St. Stephens Green, watching people go by and enjoying the high autumn sun.

"I'm sorry?" Edith asked, removing the lid from her drink to blow on it.

"Your feet hurt because of the cobbled streets. It's like walking on a rocky beach. You'll get used to it though."

Edith smiled and nodded. She'd also have to get used to Dr. Strallan knowing intrinsically what was on her mind all the time, she was beginning to realize.

The day had started at campus, Edith getting an insider's tour. Anthony was full of knowledge of the history and all the little stories about the old buildings. Edith found she enjoyed listening to him talk, his deep and quiet voice lost some of its tenuousness when he was discussing something he was expert in. They had walked through Grafton Street, for what Anthony called the "full tourist experience" and had gone to Temple Street to see the famous bar.

In the Georgian district, Anthony had shown Edith a tiny, hidden, brick-walled bookshop with floor-to-ceiling stacks of yellowed, musty books on everything from Gothic architecture to the fashion of the Great War. Edith and Anthony spent hours perusing the packed shelves, showing each other their favorite reads as they stumbled across them. In the end, Anthony had insisted Edith get _Anna Karenina_, shocked she hadn't read it already, and Edith insisted Anthony take a collection of modern poetry by an Irishman named Curtis.

After a quick lunch they went to a farmer's market where Edith picked some fruits and cheese, which Anthony insisted on buying, and then they began meandering back to the college, which is how they landed in Stephens Green, sipping their coffee and enjoying a comfortable silence.

"Thank you for today," Edith said after a while. "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed it." She felt herself blush and rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness.

"I'm very glad. I enjoyed it too. It's been too long since I've played the tourist, or the guide for that matter," he said, crossing one leg over the other in a gesture Edith was quickly becoming familiar with.

Anthony's eyes looked even brighter as he squinted slightly against the sun, and though Edith didn't care to admit it, his hair looked even lighter. Still, his thick navy sweater and plaid button-up shirt looked soft and warm, and Edith found herself staring at the way they exposed the slightest bit of skin below his Adam's apple. Embarrassed, she distracted herself by rearranging their paper shopping bags at her side.

"So, do you think you'll learn to like it?" Anthony asked.

"I already like it. I think I'll 'learn' to call it home," she replied, turning back to him.

"Well, you'll have to report to your father that I've done my duty," Anthony said with a thin, slightly awkward smile. Edith's head dropped automatically.

"Oh," she said, unable to hide her disappointment. "Oh, yes of course. He'll be pleased to hear of it." Her throat had gone dry, and she tried to tell herself it was silly to be upset. After all, Anthony was a very kind mind who had done far more for her than she had any right to expect.

Anthony's face grew alarmed. "Oh, please don't misunderstand. I've had a wonderful time. I haven't felt obligated or I wouldn't have done it. I don't usually enjoy this sort of thing so I'm not easily made to do it. Not that I haven't enjoyed this. I have enjoyed it, immensely."

"You know, for a literary expert, you're not very good with words." Edith began to smile, biting the corner of her full bottom lip.

Anthony heaved a relieved laugh and ran a hand over his chin. "Don't I know it. One of my many faults, you see. I usually find it best not to say anything at all. Ghastly at conversation, I'm afraid."

"Well that's not true. We've just spent an entire morning and afternoon talking endlessly," Edith said plainly. Anthony only smiled in response and looked away, his silence indicating to Edith that perhaps she'd pointed out a truth he wasn't yet willing to acknowledge. She blushed again and looked down.

A dozen or so birds took off from one of the near-by trees, catching their attention. When the last one had disappeared into the horizon Anthony sighed. "Should we get going?"

Edith reluctantly agreed, muttering a thanks as Anthony took her wares in hand. She thought of a school boy carrying his sweetheart's books and smiled to herself. Anthony was quite old fashioned, which delighted Edith. All day he'd held doors and pulled out chairs, and not because he was trying to impress her but because it was simply what he did.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked, matching her grin as though it were communicable.

"Oh," she flustered, having been caught. "I was just thinking."

"Only I wonder if you are ever _not_ thinking."

Edith laughed and watched her boots as they strolled onward. "I was thinking that I would have liked to live a hundred years ago or so, right at the begging of the century when everything was simpler and slower. I would have liked to have been the daughter of an Earl or something, I think."

"When you would have had no rights at all and your every move would be dictated by society? Or worse, your parents?"

"I could have fought society, and my parents, for my independence. Back then I would have been considered 'modern' and ahead of my time. I could have been brave and brazen, just for wanting to write. As it is, instead of being brave I'm just doing as all young women must, and I can't relate to anyone my age. I'm terribly old-fashioned, I'm afraid."

Anthony nodded and smiled knowingly. "I see what you mean."

"Thanks for that."

"No, I mean that I feel the same way sometimes. It's why I focused on Victorian and Romantic lit, I think. Because gentlemen were gentlemen and a man was a cad if he had the nerve to kiss a young woman before he'd made a promise to her. I rather like the idea of nobility and duty and courting, all that."

Edith raised an eyebrow at Anthony and laughed. "Oh you are terribly Victorian, aren't you?"

"Afraid so. I don't even own a television."

Edith laughed even harder. "Oh dear. Do you read by candlelight? Write with quill and ink?"

"Not quite, _Lady_ Crawley," he teased in retort. "Oh we make quite the pair, don't we?"

Edith felt her chest swell at his mention of them as a pair, but she immediately quashed the thought before it had time to germinate. Anthony seemed to realize the implication in his choice of words and cleared his throat. The remainder of the short walk back to campus was spent largely in silence.

They came to stop under a great oak tree, unsure of where to go or how to part. Edith took the bags from Anthony and shrugged.

"Thank you, Edith, for a very pleasant afternoon," he said, his tone and posture naturally formal.

"Won't you come eat this cheese?" she asked gracelessly, blushing before the words had barely passed her lips. "What I mean is, I can't get through it alone, and seeing as how you paid for it you may as well enjoy it. I have wine and bread at mine, and a stew that's been going all day."

Anthony looked hesitant.

"If you're not busy, of course. No obligation at all," Edith said quickly, wishing she hadn't brought it up in the first place.

"No," he said quietly. "I mean yes. No I'm not busy, but yes, I'd like very much to help you eat the cheese." He shook his head a laughed at himself. Edith found it endearing that his ears turned slightly red, and tried not to read too much into it.

"Very good," she said. "Well why don't you give me a few hours to tidy a bit, and I'll see you around six?"

"Yes, alright. Six."

Edith nodded and slowly began to move past him, down the walk in the direction of her flat.

"Edith," he called urgently, causing her to turn, "I can't."

Edith's heart sank, though she tried to keep her features bright. "Oh, I see."

"No, I don't have your address."

She flushed visibly, pulling a pen and paper from her bag.

"Do you always carry a pen and notepad?" Anthony asked conversationally as she scribbled her address.

"Yes," she replied, as though it would be strange not to.

"Haven't you ever heard of a smartphone?" he teased.

"Says the man with no television," she muttered, handing him the little slip of paper.

He flashed his crooked smile at her, laughing under his breath. "Six, then," he repeated.

"Six," she confirmed. Edith turned and walked away, forcing herself not to look back. She was certain Anthony was watching her, but didn't dare look for fear he wouldn't be. When she rounded the corner her face split into a wide and uncontained grin. She felt rather foolish, but didn't fight it either.

The old stone buildings stood around her, and a breeze was picking up the gold and crimson leaves off the walk, lined by a cast iron fence. She turned her face to the sun and smiled and a group of school children passing by. She didn't like this city, Edith realized, she loved it. Exactly how much Dr. Strallan had to do with that, Edith chose not to consider at the moment.

Her mobile buzzed in her bag, bringing Edith back to earth. She pulled it out and checked the screen with a groan.

"Hello Mum," Edith sighed.

"Hello my darling. How's your day been?"

Edith smiled despite herself. "Today has been good, Mama," she said, "really perfect, actually."

She left it at that, knowing her mother wouldn't probe for details. Half-listening to the update on her mother's latest artistic endeavor and Mary's plans to renovate her already immaculate home, Edith managed to be pleasant and put in all the right "is that so's" and "oh really's".

She managed it, she knew, because in a few short hours Anthony Strallan would be having dinner with her and, without hope or expectation, the promise of his company alone was enough to bolster Edith against practically anything.

* * *

A/N: A short chapter, I know, but I wanted to get it up sooner rather than later. How busy the holidays make things! Looking forward to writing more and posting very soon...

And thank you, thank you, thank you for the lovely reviews. :)


	3. Good Company

Anthony Strallan did not often accept dinner invitations. Truth be told, he did not often receive them either. Not anymore, not since he had systematically pared his life down to his teaching, his library, and his home by the sea. But he had indeed received and accepted an invitation, inelegantly as it had been done by both parties. How or why he had done so was a bit of a mystery to Anthony, who considered himself little more than a hermitic bore. Still, as he approached the building Edith had written down, there was a certain lightness in his step he conveniently chose to ignore.

Edith's flat was on the third floor of a walk-up, and he hoped she wouldn't notice his slight breathlessness. He was no longer a young man, and the three flights of stairs just reminded him of it. Anthony hesitated a moment before knocking, telling himself that he was paying a kindness to a very old acquaintance, and _that_ was perfectly above board.

"Come in, please," Edith called from inside. Anthony opened the door slowly. Her flat was indeed small, but her earlier description had not done it justice, really.

Warmly lit with a rose-colored paper lantern in the far corner and a light in the kitchen to the left, it was sparsely furnished. A squat, white sofa was squared with the tiny fireplace, and behind it a blue table and chairs made up the dining room. On the far wall, glass-paneled double doors opened onto an absurdly small balcony with a view of nothing. The few windows were covered by gauzy, white fabric, and above the little stone mantle, a series of watercolors were hanging from picture wire. The wood floors were bare except for one shaggy carpet under the couch and stacks of books along the walls. Anthony found it utterly appealing.

Edith was coming from one of the doors on the right, wearing the same jeans and charcoal sweater she'd worn earlier. With her boots removed Anthony saw that she was also wearing a pair of purple argyle socks.

"Hello, sorry, hi," she said quickly, rushing to greet him properly. In her scramble, Edith tripped lightly over the thick gray rug and stumbled a few steps. "Oomph," she huffed, straightening and trying not to look as severely embarrassed as she was. More collected, she smiled anew and held her hands up. "Hi. Please come in. May I take your coat?"

Anthony couldn't remember why he'd been uneasy at all as Edith took the wine he was holding and then his coat, throwing it casually over the arm of the sofa.

"Hello," he finally said, realizing he hadn't uttered a word yet.

"Well, this is it. Awfully small I'm afraid. If you stand in the middle there you could probably reach both ends at once."

"I rather like it," he said.

"Don't sound so surprised," Edith laughed, shutting the door behind him. "Are you hungry? It's all ready if you'd like to eat."

"Famished," Anthony replied. They were both still standing awkwardly before the door.

"Well, why don't you take a seat and I'll serve up."

"Can I help?"

"Anthony, _I_ barely fit in my kitchen, I don't know where we'd put you if you tried to help," Edith smiled, raising an eyebrow at him. She was a bit flustered, and he noticed her eyes involuntarily traveled to the floor as she tried to sound relaxed.

Anthony did as he was told. The table had been set for two, with mix-matched plates and no linens. The cheese had been placed carefully on a third plate, along with the fruit, the loaf of bread was on a chopping board with a knife.

"Well this is all very civilized," Anthony said with a smile.

He took the farthest seat so he might face the kitchen, which was really little more than a couple of cabinets and a sink, separated from the rest of the space by a narrow post and a storage cabinet. Edith ladled from a slow-cooker into two oversized bowls.

"Mama would cringe if she knew I was having someone for dinner without so much as a placemat," Edith sighed as she came to the table.

"I thought your mother was more of the free bohemian, what with her sculptures and pottery."

"She's an artist, yes, but a very proper one. She's like a walking etiquette manual."

"And did she teach you to cook?" he asked after taking a bite of stew. "This is delicious."

"That would be dear Mrs. Hughes. She's our housekeeper and cook, and nanny really. She kind of raised us, like a friendly foil to our real grandmother. Mary and Sybil were always busy with friends or projects. I was forever being shooed out of Papa's library and office so I ended up with Mrs. Hughes more often than not. She taught me to cook. I can also knit."

"Maybe you could knit yourself some placemats," Anthony suggested dryly, causing Edith to laugh. He found he liked the way she rambled, almost always with one eyebrow raised or the other, as though she'd spent her life speaking under her breath. He also liked the dimples that appeared at her cheeks when she smiled—really smiled, from laughing or joy and not from embarrassment.

"You have dimples," he said dumbly. What Anthony had meant to say was something much more interesting and appropriate, but the words had tumbled out before he could stop them.

"Yes, sometimes. Mostly when I laugh. They make me look about twelve," she replied. Cocking her head slightly she added, "Not many people notice."

"Maybe you don't laugh enough," he said matter-of-factly.

Edith poured the wine by way of reply. After a few moments conversation resumed, and didn't really take a break save for the occasional blushing silence. They had both tucked away two full bowls and several slices of bread and cheese before Anthony finally leaned back in his chair.

"Well that was decidedly better than the frozen pizza I was going to have for dinner."

"I should hope so," Edith laughed.

"Thank you, and thank you for having me. Linens or no, you've a wonderful place."

"I like," Edith sighed, looking around proudly. "Of course, I like it because it's mine and partly, I have to admit, because my father would hate it."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. If it were up to him I'd be in a three-story, six bedroom monstrosity in Howth or somewhere posh. But I wanted to do it on my own, and this is what I could afford, and I adore everything about it. Right down to the incredibly loud neighbors and the mystery stain on the bedroom wall I have conveniently covered with a mirror."

Her dimples appeared again and Anthony found himself trying not to notice.

"You've paid for this on your own?"

"Of course," she scoffed. Edith stood and gestured to the couch. As Anthony took a seat she refilled his wine and brought a bowl of chocolates over, placing it between them. "I am capable of work, you know," she added.

"No doubt," he muttered. Anthony would have explained that he understood her inherent need for independence, and that he knew the challenge of establishing oneself in the shadow of a large and prosperous family, but Edith waved a hand and changed the subject.

"Do you ever tire of teaching the same books each semester?" she asked suddenly.

"No, not at all. I thought I might, and I do change the curriculum slightly each time I repeat a course, but no. It's remarkable how much one can get out of Dickens or the Brontes or what have you. And each course you have new minds offering new perspectives. No matter how many times I teach _Heart of Darkness_ I seem to discover a new life lesson in it somewhere. No, it's wonderfully rewarding."

"That's lovely," she said sincerely. "Not many people appreciate that sort of thing. Mary is forever giving me grief because I reread Jane Eyre about twice a year, but there's a sort of comfort in the words, and the familiarity, isn't there? And it's always new because my perspective is always changing."

"That's it precisely!" Anthony agreed, concerned immediately that he sounded stupidly enthusiastic. Deflating a bit, he leaned away and mumbled, "Anyway, that's the beauty of literature, I suppose."

He glanced at Edith and was relieved to find she didn't seem at all dismayed, nor was she simply being polite while trying to mask her boredom. It had been quite a long while since Anthony had found company with such similar interests.

The way the current lighting was catching the copper in her hair, and the way her eyelashes laid across her cheek as she looked down into her wine did not go unnoticed by Anthony either. But, he reminded himself, he was a dreary old man and fixating on Edith Crawley's anything was ill-advised.

"Those paintings," he said suddenly, surprising himself as much as Edith, "are they your mothers? They're quite beautiful."

Edith, who was sitting on top of her feet so she might face her guest more directly, looked over her shoulder at the three little watercolors. One was of an old woman in a garden, apparently sweeping the walk. The middle was of two young girls sharing a swing, and the third was of a man and a woman dancing by a creek.

"No, Mama didn't do those. I did."

"Really?" Anthony asked, forgetting his resolve and turning his gaze fully on Edith. She was blushing again, and biting her lower lip.

"Yes, well I needed something on the walls, and I'm not exactly in a position to buy fine art," she said wryly. "I wouldn't be so bold as to hang my own paintings if I had a choice."

"They're really wonderful. Don't be so dismissive," Anthony said firmly.

Silence fell again, Anthony observing the paintings, Edith observing Anthony.

"Did you mean it when you said I could use your office?" Edith asked suddenly, her voice rather small.

"Of course," Anthony replied without hesitation, turning to her once again. Suddenly remembering, he began fishing in his pockets. "Here, I've uh," he muttered, "I've brought you the spare key. That way it's always open, literally and figuratively."

When Edith took it from his hands they touched just briefly, and Anthony scolded himself for noticing it at all.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"I have a feeling you'll appreciate a quiet place and, if I may say so, a rather good library," he said with a smile.

"And good company," Edith added quickly. She colored as though she'd spoken out of turn and they both looked away. As Anthony studied his side of the little flat, he realized something that made him grin. Edith, despite her teasing earlier, had no television either. After a few more moments conversation resumed as they hobbled past their mutual shyness again.

Anthony was surprised to find himself in Edith's bedroom, though his reason for it was purely innocent. The only restroom in her flat was off her tiny room. It was tidy and sparse like the rest of her home, and just as warm. A bed, sitting on the wood floor and not a bedframe, took up most of the space. It looked incredibly soft and inviting, with a white down comforter and large pillows. A tiny wood table sat under the only window with a wicker chair before it. The desk was bare except for a large bundle of paper, neatly bound.

Anthony's curiosity was piqued, he had to admit, but pushed the thought from his mind and he turned off the light and headed back out.

Edith was at the sink, rinsing dishes. "Can I do that, please?" he asked, nudging her out of the way. "You cooked; you shouldn't wash up as well."

"Very well," she said reluctantly, leaning against the counter beside him.

"What is it you write?" Anthony asked as he started in on the dishes.

"Oh, you saw my manuscript," she nodded. "Well, I write fiction, mostly short stories, sometimes poetry though it's so awful I'd never own it if it were found. That manuscript, though, is a series of ten short stories. I'm bringing it to that Gregson fellow next week for his initial review."

"Gregson," Anthony scoffed, stacking the clean bowls on a towel. "Be careful with that man."

"You really don't like him do you?"

"He's bright, and very charming. He's also astonishingly narcissistic and immature, and he will do anything to get what he wants, whatever it may be. He's burned quite a few bridges in his time here, I can tell you."

"That sounds juicy, do tell," Edith urged facetiously.

"I suppose it's bad form to speak ill of a coworker to a student."

"I'm not really a student," she qualified. "Well, I'm not your student anyway."

Anthony shot her a warning look, half in jest. "So tell me about your stories."

Edith groaned and looked away. "Oh, I hate talking about my writing. Even saying 'my writing' sounds ridiculous to me sometimes. It'd be easier if you just read them."

"You'd let me read them?"

"Would you really want to?" she asked, lighting up.

"Edith, it would be an honor," Anthony replied in mock formality.

Edith rolled her eyes, pretending to be anything less than thrilled. "You are _so_ Victorian," she grumbled, walking to her room to fetch the collection.

Anthony, finished the last of their dishes and dried his hands. When Edith returned, Anthony reached for his coat.

"I should be going," he said reluctantly. That Edith's face fell and her shoulders dropped in disappointment he tried to ignore.

"Well, here it is," she mumbled, parting with her work as though it were a painful separation.

"I'm sure it's wonderful," Anthony assuaged.

"You couldn't be, you've never read my work. The problem is, no one else has either. Not really."

"Good practice for you then," he smiled.

Standing by the door, Anthony felt awkward again, and more than slightly out of his element. "Thank you, Miss Crawley, for a lovely evening."

"Thank you for coming," she said. They were forced by the dimensions of her entry to stand close together as Edith reached past him to open the door. Looking down at the tiny woman, he was struck again by her dark eyes and soft, fair skin. She was not a conventional beauty, perhaps, but something in her ease of manner and naturally feminine features made Edith nothing short of stunning.

"Well, thank you again, and I will see you soon, I'm sure. Don't hesitate to call if you need something," he stuttered, making a hasty escape.

"Goodnight, Dr. Strallan," Edith called with a smile as he moved down the hallway, shutting the door quietly as he reached the stairs.

When Anthony returned to his own flat that night, it seemed unusually drab and cold in comparison with Edith's. He wondered what she would say of the faded armchairs and worn rugs, and of the many, many paintings and maps that littered his walls haphazardly. He imagined she would laugh at the formal dining room, totally unused except to collect Anthony's long unopened mail. She would probably insist on throwing open the windows, which had a view of the neighborhood green and the city beyond, and on turning on every lamp in the place just to brighten it a bit.

_And why would she be here at all?_ he thought suddenly, kicking himself for such a foolish notion. That Anthony was enchanted by Edith Crawley he would not deny. Even if he wanted to the boyish, unintentional grin he caught in the mirror would prove him a liar. But, Anthony told himself, Edith was no more than a delightfully unusual young woman, who was probably thinking of any number of things that very moment that did not include him.

As Anthony laid down in bed that night, his mind began to race as usual. The recollections of his rather long and thoroughly enjoyable day drifted by; mostly the sound of Edith's laugh, and the shape of her elegant hands, and the way she always seemed to be sizing him up.

Anthony had deliberately made a habit of sleeping in the middle of the bed long ago, when his wife had passed and he was so sure no one would ever occupy one side of it again. Tonight, though, before he even had time to censor the thought, Anthony imagined Edith's petite form next to him—hands folded with his, hair mussed on the pillow, the curve of her narrow hip as she tucked into him, the rise and fall of her ribs as she slept.

"For god's sake, man," Anthony hissed to no one but himself, throwing the blankets off and sitting up. Knowing full well he would not be sleeping anytime soon, Anthony flipped on his bedside lamp. Moving to the chair in the corner of his rather cluttered room, Anthony picked up the manuscript Edith had given him and, after running one hand over her name on the title page, began to read.

* * *

A/N: A slight glimpse into Anthony's head. What will he think of Edith's work? :) Thank you again for the lovely reviews. They absolutely make my day!


	4. The Liberation of Edith Crawley

"Anna, you won't believe what Dr. Strallan's done in here," Edith said quietly, looking around the darkened office that belonged to Anthony. She had stopped by early, while the street lamps were still on and the damp of night hadn't quite left. She wanted to drop some things off before her meeting, but now she didn't want to go.

Anthony's own, rather stately desk had been pushed into one corner, making room for a prim little walnut one in the opposite corner just for her use. While Anthony's desk had a stiff looking leather chair behind it, Edith's was wicker with a cushion, much like the one in her bedroom. On her desk Anthony had placed a thesaurus, dictionary, and an antique copy of _Jane Eyre_ that Edith imagined was quite valuable.

"Edie?" Anna asked after a long silence.

"Sorry, I was just surprised. He's given me a desk and some books," Edith managed.

"Well that's generous of him," Anna replied, not grasping the extent of the man's thoughtfulness. "So, what did you do last night?"

"Had Anthony for dinner."

"Really? I thought you had spent the morning with him."

"I had," Edith muttered distractedly. She pulled the desk drawer open to find pads of paper, new pens, and a little notecard that simply read "Welcome" in unmistakably masculine print.

"Oh, I see. So you're enjoying this Dr. Strallan?"

"Immensely," Edith sighed without thinking. As she sat in the wicker chair, she tried to downplay the pounding in her chest and the strange new emotion filling her head. "He's a terribly decent man."

"Is it possible he's a terribly decent, available, attractive man you might actually have a wee something for?" Anna probed.

"Anna," Edith moaned.

"It's alright, you know. To be interested in him. In anyone. It might be a nice change for you."

"Really, Anna. He's twice my age, and a professor, and rather old fashioned."

"So he's perfect for you."

"Stop it."

"Look, I don't know why you're so reluctant to just admit you might like the man. I've never seen you spend more than an hour willingly with anyone besides me and your family, and barely even us. And if you're looking for someone to talk you out of him on the basis of age, call Mary or your mother or someone because I won't do it. John's older than me and we couldn't be happier."

Edith, unable for form a response that sounded reasonable even to herself, was quiet for a while.

"All I'm saying," Anna finally offered maternally, "Is that you've never believed you'd find anyone you could really fall for, and maybe now that you have you're just a little hesitant. Don't be so afraid all the time, alright?"

"It's not that I haven't liked men, Anna. It's that they haven't liked me," Edith said in a rare moment of truthful sadness.

"Oh Edie," Anna sighed, "You haven't _let_ them like you."

"Anna, I'm going to be late for my meeting with Professor Gregson."

"Just, promise me you're going to give yourself a chance, alright?"

"Yes, of course. Bye Ann," Edith agreed softly.

Looking around the little room, Edith took a deep breath. Dr. Anthony Strallan, in roughly forty-eight hours, had proven himself to be a kind man and a kindred spirit. Edith, who had always considered herself practical and sensible if nothing else, found herself in quite the predicament. She was not a romantic or maudlin person, but her personality simply would not allow her to ignore the facts either. The burden of being terribly clear-minded, Edith decided, was that you must see the truth whether you'd like to or not, even about yourself.

Edith stood, a dreamy smile playing on her mouth that she caught in the reflection on the window. She ran her thin fingers along the edge of his desk, over his antique clock, the arm of his chair. She wondered when he started his mornings, and gathered it was early because it simply suited him better. Knowing she would have to hurry if she were to be on time to meet Mr. Gregson, Edith gathered her bag and the extra copy of her manuscript. She would have been more reluctant to go had she not the promise of Anthony sitting in this very room upon her return. Smiling to herself once more, Edith slipped out, locking the door behind her.

In his email, Michael Gregson had suggested they avoid the "formality" of a campus office and meet at a little coffee place a few blocks away. It was a particularly blustery day, the last of the mild summer blowing south. Gregson wasn't hard to spot, sitting alone at a table in the back, an ankle crossed over his knee and an expression like he owned the place. When they made eye contact he smiled and nodded.

"Hello Mr. Gregson," Edith greeted, offering her hand. He took it limply and didn't stand.

"You must be Edith Crawley. Hello, please take a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you," Edith said, sitting across from him. His beady eyes and rather large ears did nothing for his thin, hard frame, and something in the way he looked her once over made Edith uneasy. She found herself glad that she had worn a button-up blouse with a knit cardigan and trousers as opposed to the more form-fitting sweater dress she had been considering. "I don't drink coffee, actually. And I've already had my morning tea. But thank you."

"All good writers must drink coffee to excess. And smoke, too. Do you smoke?" he asked with a teasing smile.

"I don't," she replied, "I find it rather repellant, actually."

"Oh dear," he sighed, "well I see I have my work cut out for me."

Edith glanced down at the table, mostly to avoid his stare, and shrugged.

"Well, Edith, how do you like Dublin so far?"

Edith found herself gauging Michael Gregson's general manner against Anthony's. Dr. Strallan had insisted on calling her Miss Crawley until somewhere around Temple Street when she finally stamped her foot in protest. And given that every inch of Dublin would permanently be associated with Dr. Strallan for Edith, she wasn't sure how to phrase her answer.

"I'm very fond of it," she managed.

"Yes, well, the romance fades, I can tell you," Gregson said cynically. "But if you make the right friends it will never be dull. I'm from Belfast originally, but I traveled between London and New York for a long time. Those are real cities, full of color and life."

"What made you settle in Dublin, if it isn't a 'real' city?"

"Ah, well, I was in want of a grown-up job and called in a bit of a favor, sent in my work as a journalist and whatnot and here we are. So," he said, changing his tone and the subject, "What have you got to show me?"

Reaching into her large bag, Edith produced a copy of her work. "This is a collection of short stories I've been working on." Gregson took the manuscript from her hands indelicately and leafed through to the middle.

"Have you got a particular favorite?" he asked. Edith shook her head. "Alright, I'll start with this one," he muttered with a frown.

Edith, surprised and embarrassed that he was going to read it right there in front of her, waited awkwardly. He seemed to be treating it with mock solemnity, but she tried to believe he would take her work seriously. The longer she waited, fidgeting and uncertain, the more she wished she were back in the comfort of Anthony's presence. It felt extremely wearisome, after the last couple days, to be returning to her familiar social anxieties.

"Well," Gregson said suddenly, causing her to jump. He slapped her manuscript onto the table and folded his arms. "Very well done indeed."

Edith, admittedly flattered, dropped her head. "Thank you," she muttered, "and what criticisms have you?"

"None, really. Your style is clear, your vocabulary strong. Well done."

"Perhaps if you read some of the others," she tried, hoping he wasn't simply being dismissive.

"Don't need to. You see, I know the publishing business, and you've just what they're looking for. Elegant stories and a pretty face, you'll sell like mad."

"I'm not so concerned with selling, Mr. Gregson," Edith began.

"Call me Michael, I insist," he interrupted.

"You see I've come here to study and to improve my writing."

"What is there to improve? Really, Edith, this is wonderful. But if you'd like, I'll take the rest of these with me and read them when I can. And, as your portfolio advisor, help you arrange anything you wish to include when you're ready. Anything new you produce in your workshops I'll be happy to review. Perhaps over dinner sometime we can hash out some of the details."

Edith nodded weakly, unsure whether disappointment or defeat was more prominent at the moment.

"For now," Gregson continued, "Let us get to know each other a bit? I'll be in a much better position to help you if I know who it is you are." He flashed a smile and folded his hands together over his knee.

"Unfortunately," Edith hedged, "I'm afraid I must run. But thank you for your help, and I do look forward to your notes on the rest of the stories."

"I'll email you when I've finished and we can get together to discuss," he agreed.

Edith was already standing and buttoning her wool coat. "Yes, alright," she said hesitantly, halfway to the door.

"Looking forward to it, Edith," Gregson called coolly, leaning back in his chair. Edith felt his eyes on her as she left and tried not to look in too much of a hurry.

Michael Gregson had been polite, friendly, and was complimentary of her work. So why Edith had a restless feeling in her gut as though she needed a good scrubbing was somewhat of a mystery to her. A week ago she might have been flattered by his attention and found him attractive. Now, as she hurried back through the fresh rain to campus, she was forced to acknowledge that anything less than Anthony's crooked grin and blue eyes and sincerity seemed wholly inadequate now.

When Edith opened the door to Dr. Strallan's office, she found him sitting in one of the wingback chairs, looking over some papers that seemed to be student work. His legs were crossed, his left hand holding an essay while his right absently swirled a cup of tea. Upon Edith's entry, those great, cerulean eyes of his glanced up and his face immediately brightened. He stood to welcome her, and Edith felt she had seen this very image a thousand times before, as though she'd been greeted by this exact view every day of her life. She smiled widely despite herself.

"Hello you," he greeted, tossing the paper he'd been holding onto the stack on the floor beside him.

"You were very busy yesterday," Edith accused gently, dropping into the chair across from him.

"I was with you most of the day," he answered, frowning slightly in confusion as he sat too.

"When, then, did you manage to move a desk and chair in here for me? And some lovely, lovely books?"

"Oh, you know," he stammered uncomfortably. If Edith wasn't mistaken, he also blushed mildly as he glanced down.

"Dr. Strallan, I can't thank you enough."

"You needn't thank me at all, but if you're going to insist on calling me Doctor I'll have to insist on calling you Miss Crawley."

Edith flushed and muttered a "Very well."

"Can I get you a cup of tea?"

"Please," she nodded. "I've just had my meeting with Mr. Gregson and I'm afraid I need it."

"Oh, was that this morning? And how did it go?" Anthony asked, trying to keep his tone casual as he moved to the pot on the windowsill and poured Edith a cup of tea. Before she had time to ask he added a splash of milk, just as she liked it.

"Alright, I suppose. He was very complimentary of my work, but I'm not entirely certain my goals are quite in line with his."

Anthony grunted by way of reply as he returned to his seat.

"Anyway, I don't suppose I _have_ to go to him for anything except final approval of my portfolio."

"Certainly not," Anthony agreed absently.

They were quiet for a while, Edith sipping her tea and Anthony staring at the floor in thought. He seemed to be working something out, but Edith didn't care to press him for information. Glancing around what felt now like _their_ office, Edith saw Anthony had returned her manuscript to her desk.

"You can't have finished it already," she said in surprise.

It took Anthony only a moment to know what she was referring to. Following her gaze he also looked at the neat bundle of papers and said, "I did, actually. Last night."

"You are tenacious," Edith laughed, blushing deeply at the thought of him knowing her work so intimately. "May I ask what you thought?"

"It was very gracefully done, Edith. Your stories are solid, purposeful, and tidy. There were several passages that showed real mastery of language. I took the liberty of flagging them, I hope you don't mind."

Edith shook her head quickly, unable to speak for the pounding in her chest. He had read it, all of it, and he approved. But then Edith saw something in Anthony's eyes, a certain reservation that clouded them, and she deflated. "What else?" she asked, "I can see you're holding back."

"It was very beautifully done, but overall, I think _you_ are absent from your work. Do you know what I learned about your from reading your stories?" he asked. When Edith shook her head he said, "Not a thing. Except maybe that you have an above-average vocabulary and a propensity to use conjunctions when you're describing emotion or beauty."

Edith nodded, trying to take in what he said and willing herself, much to her humiliation, not to cry. "I see."

"As a writer, you are your greatest asset. A work without you in it is pointless. You have a great deal of talent, that much is clear. What I think your stories are lacking are vulnerability and honesty. They read like they were written by someone with an identity crisis."

Edith felt absurd. Her throat was thick from fighting her tears and she couldn't think of a thing to say except to nod. Anthony's eyes were searching her face, and sudden recognition widened them.

"Oh dear, I've been unkind," Anthony said, true concern crossing his features. "I had no intention of hurting your feelings, Edith. I just thought I owed you my full honesty."

"Of course, I do appreciate your candor," she said with a thin smile. "I really do. I value your opinion a great deal."

"No, I can see I've gone and made you upset. They are really wonderful stories, Edith. Truly they are."

"Please don't feel like you must pander. I appreciate your honesty. It's exactly what I wanted. And you're quite right, of course." Edith spoke as serenely as possible, but tears began to brim over and she turned her head quickly to brush them away.

"Oh, I am an ass. Let me make it up to you."

"It's not necessary, really, Anthony."

"No, no. I'll think of something." Anthony reached out and placed one large hand over Edith's shoulder. Even in her current state she noticed the warmth it sent through her. "Please don't cry," he pleaded softly.

An embarrassed laugh burst through Edith's tears. "This is absolutely ridiculous," she complained. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I should go."

Anthony watched helplessly as she stood, mouth gaping as he tried to find the words to stop her. Edith forced a smile as she took the manuscript off her desk and moved for the door. "I'll see you," she managed, closing the door between them before she really lost it.

The cold air stifled her tears while Edith walked home, but the moment she was inside her little flat they fell hot and fresh. She felt so silly, a grown woman crying over one mild criticism. But looking at herself in the mirror she'd hung in her entry, Edith saw only her grandfather's eyes, and her mother's skin, and her Aunt Rosamund's hair. It was, she acknowledged for the second time in as many days, the same reflection she'd always seen.

And then Edith realized she wasn't crying because of Anthony's criticism. She was crying because he was absolutely right.

Her entire life Edith had been an amalgam of familial obligation and disappointed expectations. She was not social, or conventionally pretty, or dutiful. She'd never made a decision to be just who she wanted, but never committed herself to her parent's wishes either. Instead she had wallowed somewhere in no man's land, fulfilling neither herself nor her parent's desires. Of course she had no identity. She'd spent her life trying to come to terms with it and never had.

But something about her newfound independence or the strange old city, or the way her skin still hummed from Anthony's touch changed this suddenly. She was no longer the invisible Edith, annoyance to her sisters and gofer for her parents. Edith had come to Dublin, on her own hard work and savings. She had decorated her flat to her liking, and she had made friends with a man who understood her and appreciated her tastes. She'd even, Edith accidentally admitted to herself before she could censor the thought, fallen in love with him.

And then the tears fell all over again.

When Edith had pulled herself together some time later, she was sure of two things: who Edith Crawley was, and that Edith Crawley was in love with Dr. Anthony Strallan, unlikely as it was after such a short time.

Feeling a need to begin again, Edith took her manuscript from her bag. She marched to the tiny balcony at the far end of her flat and threw the doors open. Taking a deep breath, her lungs filled painfully with the icy air as Edith unbound the stack of papers and tossed them into the wind. The breeze took them higher and scattered them in strange movements all over the soggy alleyway.

Feeling liberated, Edith wanted to continue the trend. In her bathroom, she searched the drawers beneath her sink manically until she found what she was looking for. With a satisfied grin, she took her girlish braid in one hand and cut it at the base with the other. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell against her cheeks in a rough, a-line bob, the natural wave already returning to it without the weight of length to pull it straight. The eight inches of hair in her fist shocked her at first, until Edith realized it was the same damn braid she'd worn most of her life, and now she was free.

A knock at the door brought Edith back to earth. Certain it was Anthony, she quickly cleaned the mess she'd made and wiped her puffy eyes.

"Coming," she called. "I'm here!" And Edith smiled at the private truth in her words as she opened the door.


	5. Time is of No Bearing

Anthony felt terrible. He knew that he was out of practice with most everything social, but he did grade an awful lot of papers. Surely his analytical opinion wasn't so shattering. Approaching the squat brick building that housed Edith, he suddenly wondered if all his students felt so assaulted by his margin notes on their papers. Edith would be the perfect judge of that, he realized, and if she ever spoke to him again he might ask her opinion.

This time the three flights of stairs did not seem so burdensome, and he took the last set two at a time. Regretting he hadn't something tangible to offer Edith in penance, he settled for straightening his hair and brushing down the fisherman sweater and plaid shirt he wore. _Don't be an ass, you old idiot_, he reminded himself before raising his fist and knocking lightly.

Anthony had not expected a man to open the door. He had especially not expected a young man, roughly Edith's age, with handsome features, perfect hair, and the build of a rugby player to open the door. Anthony consoled himself with the knowledge the man was at least a foot shorter than he.

"Hiya," the younger man said questioningly, one eyebrow raised.

"Hello," Anthony managed, unsure whether to walk away or continue in his current humiliation. Of course Edith had a handsome young man to run to when the old, cantankerous, friend of her father's mistreated her.

"Tom, who is it?" Edith called from inside.

Tom let the door swing open so that Edith might see, but didn't move from the doorway.

Edith was sitting on her sofa with a sweet-faced young woman, both of whom were craning to see past Tom. When Edith made eye contact with Anthony he smiled daftly and felt about an inch tall. But Edith's face lit up, and she rushed to the door.

"Anthony! Oh do come in," she pleaded, pushing past Tom to pull Anthony inside by his wrist. And Anthony followed all too willingly.

"Your hair," the good Dr. Strallan said softly, "You've done something jolly with it."

"Jolly. You are so Victorian," Edith blushed. "I decided I needed a change. You know, show the real me," she said pointedly. A pang of guilt shot through Anthony's chest before he saw her dimples and knew any hurt she'd felt that afternoon was forgotten. "Do you like it?"

"Very much," he sighed.

Having gotten Anthony inside and the door shut, Edith moved to the kitchen to pull a clean wine glass. The young man was still eyeing Anthony warily and the other young woman had stood to join them.

"Oh," Edith chirped, giving a generous pour of chardonnay to Anthony. "I'm so sorry. Dr. Anthony Strallan, my sister Sybil, and this is Tom Branson." Anthony and the young man shook hands. "Sybil's brand new husband."

And suddenly everything in Anthony's world was just a touch brighter, though he refused to admit it to himself.

"Congratulations," Anthony said enthusiastically, renewing the vigor of his handshake.

Sybil took Tom's arm and smiled at him proudly. "Thank you, you're the second to know."

"Well that is an honor," Anthony declared with a genuine smile. What the others may have seen as friendly in Anthony's expression, was in fact complete and total relief.

"Sybil and Tom came by earlier, right after I got home, to announce they've been married. Just today, they went to the courthouse," Edith explained, turning to Anthony. "Tom's from Dublin."

"But we met at University back home," Sybil added. She was beaming like a young girl at her first date.

Anthony nodded and Tom smiled uncomfortably. "The family doesn't know, you see. They think Sybil's too young to make up her own mind."

"Well I suppose you showed them, hmm?" Anthony asked, raising his glass with a little humorous glint.

"Come, sit," Edith demanded, pulling Anthony over to the couch. "Tom and Sybil have run away from home like a couple of teenagers, and they've run away to Dublin. And I'm glad of course because now I have three friends here instead of just the one." Edith winked at Anthony as she sat next to him. She tucked her feet beneath her, bringing her knees to rest just barely against Anthony's leg. She had touched him more in the last five minutes than she had in the last three days combined. Anthony told himself vehemently that had to do with the wine and the excitement and nothing else.

Sybil and Tom sat on the floor by the fire, mooning at each other. Sybil looked nothing like Edith, with her thick dark hair and bright blue eyes. She looked instead like the splitting image of Cora, from what Anthony could remember of Mrs. Crawley. Edith, he was grateful to say, looked nothing like either of her parents.

"It sounds like it's been quite a day for all of you," Anthony offered, a bit overwhelmed by the deluge of information and energy, and despite his years and experience, by the feeling of Edith Crawley's bony little knees pressing into his thigh.

"I'm so sorry, are we being rude? I'm sure Dr. Strallan didn't come here to hear our life stories," Sybil asked suddenly.

"Not at all, please," Anthony tried, but Sybil was already on her knees, hands at her waist.

"No, really. I think I'd like to take a walk anyway, don't you think Tom? We've been drinking champagne since noon, some cold air might do me well."

"Anything you want, Love," Tom shrugged.

"You needn't go on my account," Anthony insisted, but Sybil was already putting her coat and scarf on.

"Do you need anything while we're out, Sister?"

Edith, who seemed perfectly at ease, shook her head slowly and waved as the newlyweds slipped out. She and Anthony both stared at the closed door for a bit, until Edith turned back to him with a sigh.

"They're very nice," Anthony commented.

"Sybil is the nicest person I know. She's nice to everyone all the time, and forever helping anyone and anything in need. It's almost hard to be around her because she could make Mother Theresa look lazy and a bit tetchy. Tom's good for her though, makes her drink beer and stay up late, that sort of thing."

"Are you surprised they eloped?"

"I'm surprised they came to me, but not that they got married. They've been married since the day they met," Edith said with a little laugh. "Though they've only been together six months, and Sybil's only twenty-two."

"Oh time has no bearing. Six months or six years, when you know you know," Anthony replied quickly. The way Edith's eyes snapped to his, and her chin dropped, and her right eyebrow arched just a touch higher made Anthony regret his words.

Edith cocked her head slightly and opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to change her mind and looked back to the fire. After a moment's silence she said softly, "I'm sorry about earlier. I reacted so stupidly. You were absolutely right, of course, and I think that's what upset me. Not that you said it, or how you said it. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

"You didn't," Anthony answered, watching the glow of the flames against her profile. Her eyelashes seemed impossibly long, and when she looked down at the glass of wine in her hands they appeared to brush the top of her cheekbones.

Edith turned to him suddenly, and Anthony felt as if he'd been caught staring, though she didn't seem to mind.

"Edith, I do feel awful," he frowned. "Please let me apologize."

"Absolutely not," she said firmly, "I won't hear it. And you won't be making it up to me either, so you can just let that notion go as well."

"You're rather obstinate when you choose to be, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," she warned, a bit of humor returning to her features. "Mary had the charm, Sybil the goodness, and I the will of iron."

"I'll keep that in mind," Anthony noted with a thin laugh. "And should I ever meet Mary I will be sure to make my own assessment of your charm versus hers."

"If you ever meet Mary it will be because something epic has happened, I'm sure. She and I are not exactly friends, and she won't be popping over for a visit any time soon."

"Sibling rivalry?"

"I suppose. Mary is beautiful, and witty, and a bit ruthless, and being the oldest she came into everything first, including attention and time. Mary casts a very long shadow." Edith's face reddened suddenly and her eyes fell. "I'm sorry, I sound terribly resentful, don't I?"

"Not at all," Anthony assured, realizing he already disliked Mary for Edith's sake.

"I'm not really that petulant, I promise. Mary just takes up all the air in a room, that's all. I learned long ago to give Mary her space."

"So much so that you had to come all the way to Dublin to get some room of your own?" Anthony asked quietly.

"I suppose so," Edith muttered. Fidgeting slightly, she seemed uncomfortable with the poignancy of Anthony's question. With a small, mischievous smirk she asked, "And what about you? I've come to Dublin for the elbowroom, Tom and Sybil for love. Why have you run away, Dr. Strallan? Hmm?"

Anthony sighed heavily and turned to the fire. "Oh, well. It's been so long now I hardly remember," he said, his tone sadder than he had intended.

Edith laid a hand tentatively against his arm and sent Anthony's heart racing. He felt like a fool for his reaction. At his age, to be behaving like a some poetry-reading teenager over someone as young and as unassuming as Edith Crawley must be some form of early onset dementia.

But when his eyes met Edith's he did not see pity or youthful indebtedness, just warmth from a certain undeniable fire.

_Three days, man, get it together_, he pleaded with himself. But his own words floated back to him mockingly. _Time has no bearing. When you know, you know._

Anthony didn't move, and neither did Edith. The simple contact of her hand against his bicep seemed monumentally important somehow, and Anthony simply couldn't process all he needed to while she was there, close to him on the sofa, alone in her romantic little flat.

As if on cue, Edith and Anthony both jumped apart awkwardly, segregating themselves to opposite ends of the sofa. The place on his arm that Edith had been touching seemed uncomfortably cold without her hand against it. When they both finally spoke it was at the same time, and each stopped abruptly, allowing silence to fall again.

"It is far colder out than I anticipated," Sybil said jovially, bursting through the door. "It took about ten seconds to sober up, I can tell you."

Edith jumped up, standing stiffly as if she had just been caught with a boy past curfew. "Well I'm sure you and Tom are exhausted. The bed's made with clean sheets. I just need to grab a few things from my room," Edith said.

"Edith, really, we couldn't take your bed. I'll take the floor and Sybil will have the couch," Tom pleaded.

"A floor and a couch on your wedding night? Absolutely not," Edith began. But Anthony stood and ended the argument for all.

"I have a guestroom with plenty of space. I don't live far from here. You'd be more than welcome," he offered.

"That's so kind, but we don't want to bother anyone," Sybil said. "We'll be perfectly happy here."

"I'm afraid I insist," Anthony asserted. "I couldn't sleep well knowing a couple of newlyweds were sleeping on a drafty floor, and I certainly won't let Edith do it either. It would be a real treat to have someone actually using the spare room."

"Well I suppose that's settled then," Edith sighed, smiling at Anthony with a bit of that same look Sybil had for Tom earlier. "Let's all go over together and get you settled."

The entire cab over Tom and Sybil tried to reason with Anthony, insisting on paying him or at least returning his kindness somehow. But he simply wouldn't hear it. "Who, exactly, is the obstinate one?" Edith muttered to him in the lift with a grin.

"I'm afraid I don't often have guests, so it's a bit cluttered," Anthony warned as they entered his flat. It was on the sixth floor, and as he fumbled for the lights the cityscape was visible through the windows of his living room.

When he flipped on the lights, Anthony turned back to the party standing in the doorway. All three looked around curiously, but Anthony watched for Edith's expression. She seemed to know, and nodded once at him in approval.

Books were stacked on nearly every surface, and the coffee table was covered in student work. Anthony gathered things frantically for a moment before giving up. "Well, I do live alone," he joked with a shrug. "Please make yourselves at home. You're welcome to anything you can find, which probably won't be much, incidentally."

Edith looked to the left, at the dusty dining room, and to the right at the bare kitchen, and grinned. "This is lovely."

"The uh, the room is this way," Anthony stammered, moving down the corridor past the dining room. He was trying desperately to push the thought of Edith Crawley in his home to the back of his mind, though it seemed to be thrumming against his chest rather boisterously.

Tom and Sybil were shown to the room opposite Anthony's, which had a large bed, a television, and a private bath. He gave them fresh linens from the closet in the hall, and towels, and assured they had everything they needed. Edith, all the while, followed behind him silently and observantly.

"Thank you, Dr. Strallan, really," Sybil said gratefully.

"Anthony," he insisted.

"Well, Anthony, you're a real chap," Tom said, shaking his hand.

"Good night you two, we'll talk tomorrow," Edith smiled, shutting the door on the newly established Bransons.

Alone in the hallway, Anthony and Edith looked awkwardly at one another for a moment before he led the way back to the living room.

"You've a lovely place," Edith offered, hands tucked behind her back.

"It's alright, I suppose," Anthony shrugged. "I prefer the sea of course, but this suits me well while I'm here."

"The sea?"

"My home," Anthony muttered. Turning to Edith fully he realized he hadn't mentioned it. "Oh right. I have a home up in Carlingford, well just north of there, right on the coast. It's not a big place, but it's quite nice."

"I had no idea," Edith said with a little grin. "Any other secrets you'd like to share?"

"If I did they wouldn't be secrets, would they?" Anthony teased.

They shared another sheepish exchange of smiles and nervous laughter before Edith made her way to the door.

"Thank you for being so kind to my sister. They're rather like happy little orphans."

"It's my pleasure," Anthony replied sincerely, holding the door for Edith. As she crossed the threshold she turned to face him.

"I have workshop tomorrow morning, but then I was thinking of doing some work in the office—your office—if you don't mind."

"Our office," Anthony corrected, "And of course I don't mind. I've one morning class and one late in the afternoon."

"See you tomorrow then," she muttered. Anthony managed a nod, unwilling to say goodbye just yet. Before he could talk himself into reason, Edith reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek, stunning even his mind into silence. "Good night, Dr. Strallan." And then she was gone around the corner and out of view.

_Three days?_ Anthony grumbled to himself, shutting the door and shaking his head. _You are done for, old man._

* * *

__A/N: Thank you SO much for your lovely reviews! I'm so obsessed with these two, and they're so lovely together, but it is one hundred percent more fun when you are enjoying it as well. :) I have many more ideas in store for this modern Andith so I hope it doesn't become to tiresome.

Ugh, when will Mr. Fellowes see reason and let these two be happy?!

Happy reading all, and thanks again...


	6. The Umbrella Man

Edith could feel Anthony watching her, though she tried to ignore it. She had her thesaurus open and a couple notebooks spread out as she tried to scribble something useful down, but she could barely concentrate enough to put two coherent sentences together.

"What?" she finally asked with a laugh, pulling her left earbud out so she might hear his response. Edith twisted in her seat, holding onto the back of the chair as she peered over her hands at him.

Anthony was sitting at his own desk, a range of student work and well-used books before him. His hands were folded in his lap, his legs crossed in that casual manner of his, and he was turned slightly toward Edith's half of the room.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean," he said coolly, his dry humor causing Edith to grin.

"You've been watching me for the last five minutes. What is it?" she demanded.

"You are mistaken, child," he sniffed, turning back to his work. Edith rolled her eyes and replaced the earbud when Anthony asked, "What are you listening to?"

"You won't have heard of it," she said, her back still to him.

"Try me."

"Well I'm listening to a mix, but the current song is called 'Umbrella Man.' It's from the twenties."

"I've never heard of it," he conceded. "Do you often listen to music older than your grandmother?"

"I'll listen to anything if it's good," Edith sighed. To Anthony's apparent alarm, she stood and made her way over to his desk. She thought he had been flirting but his sudden fidgeting and the way his neck muscles strained from tension, Edith wasn't sure she hadn't been mistaken.

"Here," she said, moving behind his desk and offering him one of the headphones. "Put this in, you'll see why I like it."

Anthony took it reluctantly as Edith sat against the edge of his desk, leaning close so they might both listen to her i-Pod at the same time. He made wary eye contact as he placed the earbud and she started the song.

After the first several trills his shoulders relaxed and a faint smile appeared on his thin lips. Edith watched his eyes, smiling herself at his reaction and, admittedly, at the proximity of their bodies. Her legs were stretched out parallel with his, so close that twice she felt his pants brush against her, and she was leaning down toward him enough so that if he straightened, they would be at eye level with one another.

_He'll mend up your troubles and go on his way, singing toodle-luma-luma, toodle-lay_ the song carried on.

"Doesn't it sound like raining?" Edith asked quietly? "Or like a music box?"

"Yes, I suppose it does," Anthony replied, looking back to her. When the song finished Anthony returned Edith's headphones, but neither party moved right away.

Edith, wondering how long she might linger in his space without making things awkward, dropped her head to one side and said, "I love that song."

"Where do you find music like that? I mean how on earth did you find that song in particular?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "Here or there. I listen to all kinds of music, but there's something sort of romantic and sweet about the twenties and thirties. Everything that sounds quaint and antiquated to us now was new and exciting back then."

"You have a fondness for all things antique and time-worn," Anthony observed quietly. There was a certain, self-deprecating sadness in his tone that Edith couldn't quite place.

"I do, I really do," she said pointedly, hoping he understood her.

Anthony cleared his throat uncomfortably and pushed his chair back. "Have you heard from your sister? I was surprised to find them cleared out this morning when I woke, though they did leave a very nice thank you note."

"Yes," Edith said, disappointed at the change of subject. "Yes, she and Tom dropped their things at his brother's garage and are viewing a flat over in Clondalkin."

"Bit dodgy there, isn't it? They could stay at mine, you know. For as long as they wanted," Anthony offered as he made his way over to the electric kettle on the sill.

"Thank you, I know you mean that and it's very kind. But Tom's independent and proud, and I think Sybil likes the idea of 'roughing' it. Strange, but the only way we Crawleys seem to find to rebel against our father is to live like the majority of the world. What he sees as degrading, we see as adventurous, and everyone else sees as life. Ridiculous, really."

"It's not ridiculous," Anthony said, adding a splash of milk to Edith's cup and handing it to her. He hadn't asked if she wanted tea, but she supposed he didn't need to either.

"Well, Mary seems to be the only one perfectly content to live on Papa's money. She and Matthew both work for him in various facets, and they live in the guest house so they're never far off. Mama loves it, of course, and wishes Sybil would move back too, but I doubt she'll have much hope when they learn she's run off with Tom. Papa doesn't approve of him at all."

"I do hope that wasn't Sybil's main motivation for marrying," Anthony confessed, resuming his seat again. Edith was relieved he didn't encourage her to move at all, nor did he seem uncomfortable with their closeness.

"Oh, no. Sybil's too kind to deliberately cause conflict. She's in love with the boy, for better or worse."

Anthony smiled wryly. "You are a romantic, aren't you?"

"Not at all. I'm the bitter, cynical, jealous one, the middle child, the family crank and token spinster."

"Aren't you a bit young for confirmed spinsterhood?" Anthony asked with a laugh.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not so very young. According to Granny I'd better start thinking seriously of settling for the next chap I find because I'm very soon to be 'past my prime' and then it will be too late," Edith quoted with an arched eyebrow.

"If you're past your prime, I'm practically the walking dead," Anthony said gravely.

Edith laughed heartily, slipping off his desk and returning to her own.

Silence fell between them again, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper or the clink of a mug being set against its coaster.

Edith had always valued her privacy and her solitude. Having grown up in a house brimming with her sisters, her sister's friends, her father's business associates, meetings of her mother's various charitable endeavors, and an endless cycle of workers to polish floors or paint the living room for the hundredth time, or re-plaster the ceiling in the dining room or what have you, Edith felt as though she never had any space to herself for more than five minutes.

Now, though, as she listened to Anthony work, she couldn't imagine sitting in some studio or her apartment by herself. Much to her surprise, and almost anxiety, Edith found that any time without Anthony's soothing presence felt just a little bit lonely. A sudden, aching fear crept into her thoughts then, of what she might do when things inevitably changed. When her program was finished, or Anthony grew weary of her constantly at his heels, or when he inevitably declared he had no feelings for her.

But glancing over her shoulder to examine his stooped figure pouring over the things on his desk, his predictable button-up shirt and neutral cardigan, his mild frown of concentration, the disheveled curls of his graying-blonde hair, and the kindly curve of his thin lips, she made up her mind not to let him go. Even if it meant begging to simply be his friend, she would not let Anthony Strallan leave her life now that he had enriched it so entirely.

"Who is staring at who?" he asked suddenly, not looking up from his work.

Edith blushed deeply. "Whom," she corrected, turning back to her desk and vowing not to look again for the rest of the afternoon.

And so Edith and Anthony established, quite organically, a little routine that pleased both of them very much. After their morning courses, Edith and Anthony would meet for tea and a walk before returning to the office to work or study or read. Edith had brought in plants to liven up the little room and Anthony was forever bringing new books or trinkets he thought Edith might appreciate.

They began to enjoy little intimacies, though neither of them would have admitted it out loud. After asking to borrow his navy cardigan so many times, Edith came in one day to find it laundered and folded neatly on her chair. She didn't have the heart or the nerve to tell Anthony that she was disappointed the laundering had rid it of his smell, which was her favorite part of wearing it. Edith, likewise, took to arranging Anthony's desk while he was out so that he might more easily find the things he needed, for which he was immensely grateful.

Their time together, of course, was not limited to the little office on the third floor of the Literature building. Concerts and restaurants and films and festivals became a sort of weekend ritual for the two. They had such a great number of things in common that it became silly not to enjoy it all together. The general shyness they both suffered from eased slowly, though they never dared make a conscious effort toward affection. Instead their friendship was born from a natural, even inevitable familiarity that seemed to grow despite themselves.

One Saturday in late October, while driving to a poetry festival in Cobh, Edith could see that Anthony was troubled by something.

"What is it?" she asked from the passenger seat, watching his eyes as they darted from the coastline to the road. Her question seemed to surprise Anthony, who shrugged.

"Not a thing," he shrugged, forcing his frown to soften.

Edith waited patiently, turning down the radio and folding her hands in her lap.

"I was married once," he said quietly, thoughtfully, as though he were trying to remember the beginning of a very old story.

"Yes, I know. Papa had mentioned it when he first told me about you."

"Yes, well, it's no secret of course. I don't talk about it much."

_Clearly_, Edith thought, but didn't want to interrupt him.

"That song that was playing just now, it reminds me of her."

"Oh."

"Anyway she, Maud, used to make the drive out to Cornwall almost every weekend when we lived in London. She had a friend in Port Isaac that she visited quite frequently." Anthony shook his head at some distant memory, and Edith had the urge to take his hand from the gearshift, though she resisted. "She was on her way back from there, actually, when she died."

"Do you miss her?" Edith asked after a while.

"Hard to say really," Anthony mused. Turning to Edith for a moment he offered a weak smile. "I'm surprised it hasn't come up yet, actually."

"Well you don't have to talk about it," she assured, smiling back at him as warmly as she could manage.

"Bit of a depressing story, I'm afraid," he warned.

"I don't mind," Edith replied.

"Well, Maud died from an aneurism. One minute she was fine and the next she was dead. Just like that. And when she died, she was pregnant. Not very, I didn't even know about it yet. I was rather a mess when I found out."

"I'm so sorry," Edith muttered, finally settling for resting a hand against the back of his arm. Anthony deliberately didn't look at her as he continued.

"You see, Maud's friend in Port Isaac was actually a man, by the name of Jimmy. A young man, who worked for me actually, or the company at least. Anyway, he and Maud were involved, and I'd absolutely no idea until a few months after she'd gone. It seems the baby was his, and she was driving back that day to tell me she'd like a divorce."

Edith had no words for that, and no standard bit of consolation seemed nearly adequate. How anyone could mistreat such a dear man baffled her, and she wondered what sort of woman this Maud was to be foolish enough to want to leave Anthony.

Seeming to read her thoughts, Anthony said, "Oh Maud and I married very young, right out of university. Your parents knew her, actually. Anyway, she wasn't a bad person. She just didn't love me. And I was too complacent or craven to end it. We'd stopped being married long before she died. But I'm afraid I was too cowardly to continue in London as I had, in our house, with her pink walls and god-awful carpets and such." Glancing to Edith he added with a smirk, "Maud had terrible taste."

"So that's why you came out to Dublin?"

"I suppose so, yeah. I think I'd forgotten long ago what made me happy, so I came to Dublin to remember."

"And what makes you happy Dr. Strallan?"

Anthony laughed lightly and sighed, "You'll think me a terrible bore."

"I already know you're a terrible bore," she teased.

"Teaching, and the ocean, my little cottage, my books," he listed. Faltering, he glanced evasively at Edith and said suddenly, "Anyway, enough. Don't know what got me thinking about all that."

After a minute Edith turned the music back on, hoping to relieve Anthony's anxiety, and they spent the rest of the drive in silence. Their day was pleasant, fun even, as they went to various readings and lunched at a little seafood restaurant on the pier. Anthony's lightness, which Edith had grown so used to, returned, and they laughed a great deal.

When he pulled up in front of her building sometime after midnight that night, she smiled at him.

"Thank you for today, and for driving. I had a wonderful time."

"Oh, I almost forgot, your Mr. Curtis is doing a reading at a pub tomorrow in town. Would you like to go?"

"Of course. Dinner at mine to follow?"

"Perfect," Anthony agreed.

"It almost seems stupid for you to go home if you're only going to come back a matter of hours from now," Edith muttered. Realizing the implication of her words, she blushed and stepped out of the car.

"Until tomorrow then," Anthony said. Edith nodded and shut the car door. As usual Anthony watched until she was inside, making sure she was safe before pulling away.

The minute Edith reached her flat she pulled out her mobile.

"Did you forget something?" Anthony answered after one ring.

"I forgot to say thank you."

"No you didn't."

"No, I mean thank you for telling me about Maud and everything."

He was quiet for a long time, and to Edith's surprise tears began spilling onto her cheeks. Where they came from, or why, she couldn't really say. Perhaps she was touched by his confidence, or maybe it was the way he tried to downplay it all, and perhaps she was just sad for the dear man on the other line.

"Don't be sad for me, sweet girl," he said, as though he could hear the tears falling from her lashes. "I'm quite a contented old bore, I promise."

"You're not old," Edith scolded softly.

"We can debate that tomorrow. Get some rest."

"Bye," she sighed.

"Night," he replied.

And Edith was the first to hang up.


	7. Rose and Ivory and Blush

Anthony had begun to view nearly everything in his world in relation to Edith—what would she say about this, how high would her left brow arch at that, she would understand this without his saying a word, and so on. Even more strange, Edith had taken on a certain color. Never in his life had he noticed what any woman wore, but he noticed Edith's clothes, and they had a general, appealing palate of neutrals and creamy beiges, damasked pinks and burnt roses. She wore gauzy blouses and long, soft cardigans, and while they came in the occasional navy or pale green, most often Edith was clad in the most gentle earthy pinks and browns and ivories, as though her clothes had been dyed from the very colors of her flawless skin and glowing cheeks and deep, deep eyes. And now, everywhere he saw any of those colors, he thought of her.

That was really the only reason he'd bought the scarf. Now as he turned the pashmina wrap over in his hands, which happened to be the exact color of Edith's deepest blush, he felt quite ridiculous. Anthony rolled his eyes at himself and placed it carefully in the bottom drawer of his desk. It would be wildly inappropriate to give her such a gift out of the blue, he knew.

"No, Mama, I won't change my mind. If Sybil and Tom are staying, I'm definitely staying," Edith was saying into her mobile as she entered the office. She mouthed an apology to Anthony as she dropped her bag onto her desk and rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Papa's biggest problem is that he had three daughters as stubborn as he is."

Anthony tried not to watch her as she unwrapped her cream and gold scarf from her long, elegant neck and ran a hand through her red-blonde hair. He made himself busy with the things on his desk, and realized he couldn't find the papers he'd left out last night. Still muttering answers to her mother, Edith pulled a bag from Anthony's favorite bakery out of her purse and handed it to him. As he peeked inside to find two sesame bagels and spread, Edith pulled a stack of papers from his top left drawer and handed those to him as well. They were the very ones he'd been looking for, and he wasn't even surprised she knew.

"Mama, I don't know how this is possibly my fault. I have less to do with it than anyone. Sybil didn't come here for me, she came for Tom. And they'd probably live closer to home if your husband said so much as two words to poor Mr. Branson. And it's not like any of the Crawleys listen to what I say anyway." Dropping her head to the side, Edith's large brown eyes stared absently at Anthony's shoes. He, despite his best efforts, stared at nothing but her. "Oh Granny will survive, I'm sure. Look, I've really got to run. Alright, bye."

Edith ended the call with an exasperated sigh. Pressing her hand to her forehead she said, "Forty minutes that woman has been fretting over 'Poor Sybil' and asking what I can do to talk her into going home for Christmas."

"Sybil won't go?"

"Won't as much as can't. They can't afford it, Papa won't pay for it, and Tom wouldn't take the money if it were offered anyway. I wasn't that keen on going home myself, so I said I'd stay with Sybil. Mary wouldn't be left out so she and Matthew are coming up, and now Mama thinks the world is out to get her. It's all ridiculous."

"I'm surprised your mother is upset with _you_ of all people," Anthony offered. Anyone else and he would have had no interest in the spat. But it was Edith, and he found himself ardently wishing to help.

"I'd be more surprised if she'd call to ask what I'm working on or how I'm doing," Edith grumbled. She seemed to realize how petulant it made her sound. Brightening her tone and shifting her shoulders she said, "I'm also surprised to find it's the end of November already. Where did the last two months go?"

"Time has a funny way of slowing down and speeding up all at once," Anthony mused. He very nearly finished with _When you find yourself in constant company with the woman you l_ove, but managed to stop himself. Then, he realized he'd thought the word "Love" and began to panic.

"When?" Edith urged, pulling one of the wingback chairs to Anthony's desk and dropping into it.

"What?"

"It sounded like you were holding something back," she said lightly, totally unaware of the admission he'd just made to himself utterly by mistake.

"No, no," he muttered. "Hey, thanks for the bagel by the way."

"Oh, I forgot," she chirped, forgetting the previous conversation. "I'm famished."

They ate in silence, barely looking at one another, until Anthony caught Edith frowning at some thought.

"Can I help?" Anthony asked quietly.

Edith smiled sweetly. "Oh, no. Thank you," she answered quietly. Anthony, knowing she was working up to saying something, waited patiently. "Anthony?"

"Yes?"

"Would you please come? To our little orphan Christmas I mean?" Anthony opened his mouth to answer but Edith's nervous rambling prevented it. "You'd get to meet Mary and Matthew, and there will be plenty of food no doubt, and wine. Unless you have plans, of course," she amended.

"No, I don't have plans. I usually have my sister up but she's moved her holiday to now so she might go to Spain for Christmas, as you know. No, I was going to spend the holiday up in Carlingford."

"Oh," she muttered, adorably disappointed. "I'm glad you get to spend some time at home. I know how you love it up there."

"Edith, would you," he stuttered, "Would you all care to come up to Carlingford? I've plenty of rooms, and we could make a real weekend out of it. If you think your sisters might like it."

Edith's face brightened, and he was immensely pleased with himself for bringing one of the softer shades of rose to her cheeks. "Oh, you really wouldn't mind?"

"I would love it."

"Careful, you haven't met Mary yet, you may come to regret your invitation," Edith said with a wry smile.

"Promise I won't."

"Oh, Anthony, thank you so much. Thank you, thank you" she repeated.

Edith and Anthony were careful with each other, always cautious and deliberate in their movements so they might avoid touching one another inadvertently. But now, as she beamed at him from across his desk, she reached out and squeezed his hand, startling them both.

As natural as breathing, and at once the most alarming touch he could remember receiving, Anthony stared at their hands, wondering if Edith was as terrified as he was, or if she could hear his imprudent heart beating against his ribcage.

And as quickly as she had taken it, Edith released his hand, smiling shyly and looking at her lap.

"I'll need help, I'm afraid," Anthony sighed, trying to shake the idiotic nerves that had suddenly taken hold of him.

"Of course. Sybil and I will do all the cooking, and you won't have to lift a finger."

"No, I don't mind all that. I mean," he laughed nervously, "Well, I bought the house a long time ago, and I'm the only one who's ever really stepped foot in it for the last ten years. There's no jolly décor and no tree. You'll be far better at that than I. If you wouldn't mind. We could head up a day early or so to get everything prepared."

"Mind? It might be the first Christmas on record that I've been allowed to help with the tree and such. It sounds perfect, absolutely perfect." They shared another few shy grins before Edith replaced the wingback and took to her own chair so they might settle into their work.

After an hour or so Edith sighed heavily, turning in her chair to pout at Anthony. "I have a meeting with Professor Gregson," she groaned.

"Why?" Anthony grimaced. Realizing how it sounded, he forced his face to relax and crossed his legs casually. "I mean, what's it for?"

"Well, I threw out my manuscript entirely, and sent Gregson an email saying he needn't follow up with the notes he promised, which I doubt he would have bothered with anyway, and now he's insisted on meeting to discuss the 'new direction' I've taken."

Anthony frowned despite himself, and Edith laughed sympathetically. "Are you going to tell me why you hate the man?"

"It's not one thing, really. He's a prick, is all."

Edith laughed out loud at his blunt choice of words and immediately silenced herself by cupping a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she coughed, "care to elaborate?"

"Michael Gregson takes nothing seriously, except maybe his drink. He's lazy as rust, and his sense of entitlement is staggering. He wants all of the rewards of life without any of the hard work. And he is quite fond himself, utterly blind to the fact that he's a short, daft, beady-eyed little bugger who can't put two intelligent sentences together."

"So I shouldn't extend him an invitation to our little gathering next month?"

Anthony felt is irritation fall away as Edith laughed gently at him.

"On the contrary, tell him to bring the pudding."

Edith giggled. "Will do."

As she moved to the door the familiar anxiety of separation dampened Anthony's spirit. Each time they had to part, the harder it became for him to let his Edith go. He'd never before felt possessive, or jealous, and he didn't now. Rather, it was that whenever Edith was not in his immediate care, Anthony felt an overwhelming fear for her general well being.

"Don't suppose you'd care to come with?" she asked meekly from the door.

"I'd honestly like nothing more. But unfortunately, I'm due to pick up Gertrude in half an hour from the airport."

"Oh gosh, that's right. I keep forgetting she gets in today. I'm so sorry."

"You needn't apologize to me, Edith. Not for anything, not ever" Anthony said. His voice was more intense and emotional than he had intended. And, he had to admit, absolutely sincere.

"I," Edith began, but faltered. Her mouth gaped open a moment as she struggled for words, until she finally shrugged. "I'll see you soon," she settled, slipping out the door. Anthony stared at the place she'd been standing for a long while after, wondering what he was to do with himself. The only matter of which he was absolutely certain, was that Edith deserved someone young, handsome, exciting, and for more charming than he. And suddenly he felt very tired.

"Well something's gotten into you," Gertrude Strallan accused. "What have you been up to? Or don't I want to know? Is it a woman? Tell me."

Anthony ignored his sister's jeering, well used to her after so many years, and loaded her bags into his old Land Rover.

"How was your flight, Gertie?" he called.

"Fine," she barked. Gertrude had none of Anthony's height, nor did she have his quiet, reserved manner. Fifteen years older and rather stout, she was forceful, bright, and unapologetically blunt. Anthony adored her.

"Are you tired after your flight?" Anthony asked, climbing behind the wheel.

Gertrude bobbed her head with narrowed eyes. "Do I look tired? Take me to a pub so you can tell me all about her," she demanded.

"She's not," Anthony began. Then, shaking his head in exasperation, he said, "let's drop your bags off at the flat first?"

"Oh yes, let's," she said mischievously. "I'm eager to hear what you've got to tell me."

In the pub, Gertie eyed Anthony, giving him an obvious once over. "You're looking well, little brother."

"Last time you were here you told me I was looking far older than my age, and I should take care."

"I wasn't lying either," she smiled, taking a large swig of her lager. "But, aside from your alarmingly grey hair, you seem to be rather... boyish. So, tell me who it is."

"You know, I think you're going senile, Gert," Anthony said sadly.

"Probably," she chuckled. "The other day I went to feed the chickens and got all the way to the coup before I realized I'd left my trousers on the ironing board."

Anthony laughed, glad to see his sister's humor returning. Her partner, Joan, had passed three years ago, and poor Gertrude, tough as she was, had rather fallen apart.

Only once before had Anthony seen her be anything but gruff and wonderful, and that was when their parents had disowned her for her 'alternative lifestyle.' The only way Anthony could think to make up for his parents' shortcomings was to give Gertrude nearly his entire inheritance. She refused it of course, so Anthony quietly purchased the farm she and Joan rented near Otley and signed it over to them when their current lease was up. It was the only time Anthony, in his many years, had seen Gertie cry.

"We're both getting older, aren't we Brother?" Her grey eyes traveled to the pub window, where rain fell heavily from the awning and splashed onto the boots of those passing by.

"I wish you'd reconsider coming to live with me," he said, making his oft-repeated offer.

"I know you do, Love. You're very sweet, but I can't leave the farm. It's not the animals, you know, it's Joanie. She's still there in the walls and the hills and the quilts, and the cow shit. I can't leave her." Anthony had no response. He simply hurt for his dear Gertrude. "And don't go giving me that crooked, choir boy smile, alright? I'm doing just fine. Which is more than you can say for yourself, I'm sure. Still spending all your time cooped up in that tiny, dreary office of yours?"

"Well it's where I do most of my work, Gertie. Besides, Edith is usually there and she's brought in plants and a lamp and all manner of," he rambled defensively.

"Edith? Who's Edith?" Gertie interrupted, her eyes like a dog's keen on the fox's scent. "Is she a student of yours?"

"What? No," Anthony said, wishing he hadn't mentioned Edith at all. If there were one person on earth who might push Anthony to confront certain truths he wasn't at all comfortable with, it was Gertrude. "Well, she's not _my_ student anyway," he muttered.

"Yup, let's go," Gertrude commanded, hopping up from their table.

"What? Where?"

"To your office. I want to see the handy work of this 'Edith.' Go on, be a good boy and pay the bill. I'm going to use the loo and I'll meet you at the car." Gertie hurried off, because she never walked anywhere slowly.

Anthony stood reluctantly, suddenly feeling incredibly weary. Throwing the money on the table, he growled under his breath, "Damn," and marched obediently to the door.

* * *

A/N: Hello Dear Readers! Happy New Year! I took a little vacation to the mountains and was forced 'off the grid' for a bit, so I apologize for the length between updates. This Edith and Anthony have rather written themselves, so it's all there, laid out. Now it's just a matter of getting it on the page.

Thank you truly, as always, for continuing to read, and for your wonderful reviews. They were such a treat to come home to!

Devotedly yours,  
Eleanor


	8. The Lost Rabbit

"I think I like this Edith already," Gertrude muttered, looking around the small office. Edith had indeed brought in plants, and a floor lamp for softer lighting than the overhead fluorescents, and the addition of her desk and chair had all given the once cold and colorless space a noticeable warmth. "So, who is she?" Gertrude prodded, helping herself to Anthony's leather chair.

"Would you like some tea?" Anthony asked, moving toward the kettle on the sill, but Gertie stopped him.

"No," she said firmly, folding her hands across her rather rotund belly and lounging in his chair like a master interrogating a pupil.

Anthony laughed, defeated, and took one of the wingback chairs, dropping his chin into his hand. "Her name is Edith, she's Robert Crawley's daughter. Do you remember him?"

"Handsome boy, a little demanding, arrogant if I recall, parents owned land in the county, yes?"

"They practically own the county itself. Anyway, she's here for a Masters of Philosophy in Writing, and Robert asked me to keep an eye on her."

Gertrude, to Anthony's confusion, looked slightly disappointed. "Oh. How old is she?"

"Twenty-four."

Then to further his confusion, Gertie scoffed. "Oh, god, for a minute I thought she was a kid. So what's she like?"

"Why are you so interested in Edith Crawley?"

"Because I suspect she's changed you for the better and I want to give my stamp of approval," she replied, "And because I'm incredibly nosy, but you already knew that." As if to prove her point, Gertrude started digging around the drawers of Anthony's desk, which didn't bother him in the least.

"You've got everything entirely backwards, Gertie," Anthony protested, but she just gave him that knowing look he'd seen for as long as he could remember.

"Do I, Love? Who's this for, then?" she asked, pulling the rose scarf from the bottom drawer of his desk. "Certainly not me, I don't wear pink."

Anthony flushed and clenched his jaw.

"Will I get to meet her?"

"Undoubtedly," Anthony grumbled, rubbing the space between his eyes.

"Oh dear," Gertrude laughed. "You look like you've broken a vase and I'm forcing you to confess."

Anthony looked over at his sister, at the sagacious, caring expression she reserved especially for him, and suddenly he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to explain his complete and total astonishment at his current state, after accepting he'd never feel anything by apathy again. He wanted to explain how Edith had brought him back to life without even trying, and how he hated Michael Gregson for always taking exactly what he wanted without guilt, regardless of whether it was right or not.

And god did Anthony want Edith. It hadn't taken much on the part of Gertrude to bring it all to the surface. Months of forcing such thoughts to the back of his mind, and now there they were, shouting before him: _Edith, Edith, Edith_—her humor, and the way she notices everything, and the color of her hair, and her ability to laugh at him, and the dimples that appear when she does.

But the most glaring notion, the one he had never been able to quash, was that Edith was far too young and too lovely to be pursued or swayed by a fifty year old recluse, too cowardly to face even the memories in his own childhood home.

"Oh, Gertrude," he began, feeling all of his well-suppressed anguish bubbling up inside him uncomfortably. But just as he was about to tell all he was stopped, abruptly and mercifully, by Edith coming through the door.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here," she said brightly as her eyes landed on Anthony. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Anthony, immediately set at ease by her presence, smiled back despite himself, despite his righteous effort to remain good and miserable.

Edith's gaze traveled to Gertrude, whom she hadn't seen at first. "Oh, you must be Gertrude! Anthony's told me so much about you. How was your flight? Can I make you some tea?"

"No tea for me, thank you. The flight was fine. And my brother's told me just about everything I need to know about you," Gertrude replied, causing Anthony to cringe inwardly.

Edith blushed, and Anthony knew she was a bit embarrassed by the way she chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Come Edith," Gertrude demanded, standing and taking Edith's arm. "My brother is going to take us out for a lavish supper, and I'm going to tell you all the intimate, humiliating details of his childhood."

Edith laughed shyly as Gertrude began dragging her through the door. Looking over her shoulder, Edith beamed at Anthony, and he felt himself lose just a little bit more ground in the battle with his will.

"Did you know, for instance, that Anthony had a lisp?" Gertrude was saying.

Anthony dropped his head in resignation. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his grey trousers, he followed the only two women he ever truly cared about down the hall to his own undoing.

Anthony had been worried about Gertrude's motives and her innate ability to say exactly the thing he wished she wouldn't. But by the time the waiter cleared dessert, his fear was almost entirely abated. Gertrude had overcome Edith's shyness in no time at all, and they were laughing now, trading barbs like old friends.

It was a new experience for Anthony entirely. He'd never seen Gertie so approving or kind to any of the few young women he dated in his youth. And she certainly never warmed to Maud, who found nearly everything about Gertrude offensive.

"Please excuse me for just a moment," Edith begged when the latest fit of laughter had died down. Anthony tried not to watch her as she walked to the restroom, but failed. When her small figure disappeared around the corner, he finally turned back to find Gertrude eyeing him pensively.

"You like her," Anthony said, his voice sounding more relieved than he'd intended.

"Very, very much. She's the first sensible woman you've ever been with."

"But you forget, Gert, I'm not with her," Anthony reminded, playing absently with his unused spoon.

"And why aren't you? The girl's clearly mad about you."

This Anthony doubted entirely, but rather than argue with Gertrude on something neither of them could know for sure, he decided to tell her the truth. "I'm too old for her, Gertie. I'm twice her age, and far too boring. She needs adventure and charm and youth."

"Says who? Besides, she _wants_ you."

Anthony refused to continue the argument.

After a moment's silence, Gertie spoke again, her tone light and nostalgic. "Anthony, do you remember the Easter fair we went to when you were seven or eight?"

"We went every year until I was sent to school at eleven."

"Of course, yeah, but that particular year you found the coveted golden egg, do you remember?"

Anthony sighed, smiling at the memory, and ran a hand over his chin. "Good god, I totally forgot about that."

"And because you found the golden egg, you won that year's Easter rabbit, an actual, live little bunny."

"Nanny Fee was terrified that we'd bring it home and Mother and Father would be angry."

"You fretted all afternoon because you were sure if you brought it home something bad would happen to it."

"I thought for sure Father would kill the poor creature because he always went shooting, or even worse that I'd forget to feed it or something and it would die, or that it would hate me and be lonely," Anthony laughed thinly, shaking his head at the details of his childhood he'd managed to forget.

"Sensitive dear that you were," Gertrude muttered, smiling at him fondly. "Anyway, you were a total wreck and it took the whole day to talk you down."

"You were wonderfully patient. Back then. What happened?"

Gertrude ignored his taunting and continued. "And when you finally decided that you'd take the rabbit, as you really wanted it terribly all along, do you remember what happened?"

"The fair was nearly over and I was too late. They gave it to Jimmy Hagen-Brown instead. The little bastard."

"Right," Gertie nodded, as if her point had been made. Anthony simply frowned at her, waiting for her explication. "Oh Anthony, you're fifty years old and I still have to tie your shoelaces." Leaning across the table she said in a softer voice, "Don't walk away from another rabbit just because you don't trust yourself. Because she is going to get snatched up by the next 'little bastard' that comes along and sees what a treasure she is. This one is worth fighting for, Sprout."

It had been years since Gertrude had called Anthony "Sprout." It's what she used to call him when he was scared, or hurt, and she'd hold him to her bosom and rock him back and forth. The same blue eyes that peered down at him back then were looking up at him now. When Anthony didn't speak, Gertie leaned back, changing her approach.

"Look, when my Joanie died, Anthony, something somewhere inside me died too. It's not a cliché, it's the damned truth. I'll love her the rest of forever and I know it."

"I know, Gertrude," Anthony said, patting his sister's hand.

"That part of you didn't die with Maud," she continued. "She was your wife, but she wasn't your partner, or your friend. I think people forget sometimes the importance of friends."

"I really don't want to talk about Maud," Anthony said firmly.

"Tough titties!" Gertrude shot back. "It's time you stop pretending your great love is buried somewhere in Yorkshire and not in the john down that hall as we speak."

To Anthony's relief, Edith was no longer down the hall, but approaching the table.

"What'd I miss?" she asked brightly, running a hand through her short, wavy hair, and Anthony had to fight the impulse to kiss her right then.

"My brother and I were playing an old game, but I think I just won," Gertie said cryptically. Edith raised an eyebrow at Anthony, looking for more information, but he simply shrugged. And when that alone caused Edith to smile widely at him, something in the deepest chamber of his heart broke like a great flood. God, he loved her.

"Well, I'm done for. Why don't you kids take me home and then you can bring Edith home after that," Gertie suggested in that way Anthony knew wasn't really a suggestion but an order.

"Very well," Anthony said. "After you."

The trip to Anthony's flat was relatively quiet, for which Anthony was immensely grateful. Gertrude had insisted Edith sit in the front, and Anthony felt his sister's eyes on him in the rearview mirror.

"Good night, Edith Love," Gertrude bid, patting Edith's shoulder. "We'll get together again before I go. Maybe without my stuffy little brother."

"He's not at all stuffy," Edith argued gently. "But I'd love to. Good night."

"I'll leave the door unlocked, Anthony. But don't hurry back, of course."

Anthony simply pulled away from the curb.

"You seem awfully pensive," Edith mused, hitching her foot up onto the seat and leaning toward the window so she might face him directly.

"Hard to get a word in with you two. Tell me, were you acquainted in a past life?"

"Feels like it," Edith laughed. "She's marvelous."

"Yes, she is. Mother and Father were rather busy," Anthony began. Glancing at Edith he amended, "Well, they were cold, and brutally distant. But Gertie being so much older, she really raised me. Closest thing to a mother I've known."

"It makes me sad to think of poor young Anthony Strallan starved for his parents' affection," Edith admitted. After a moment she added with a wicked smile, "what with his lisp and left-handedness and knock-knees and bed-wetting."

"Is there anything she didn't tell you?"

"Only the things she doesn't know."

"Well that's a yes, then. I'm not sure how, but she seems to know me better than I do."

"I suspect that isn't hard to do," Edith murmured thoughtfully. Anthony's eyes shot to her, and she seemed to snap out of some train of thought. "Sorry, that's not what I meant."

They were quiet again for the rest of the drive. When the rain began to fall Anthony was relieved for the noise and the movement of the wipers. When he pulled in front of Edith's place she sighed heavily and looked up at the building, but didn't move.

"I haven't an umbrella," she said quietly.

Without hesitation, Anthony pulled his jacket from the back seat, stepped out of the car, and went to Edith's door. "Let's make a run for it," he suggested. Wrapping one hand around Edith's tiny waist, he held her close as they both held the jacket overhead and splashed through the rain to her building.

And when they got inside, Anthony did the only thing a gentlemen could do and escorted her to her door.

In the dim light of the hallway, both half-soaked with rain, Anthony Strallan and Edith Crawley stood before each other, eyes locked, and not one word either one could think of seemed sufficient, or appropriate. The rise and fall of Edith's chest beneath her cream knit sweater and the pieces of wet hair that clung to her delicate jaw seemed to alarm and intrigue Anthony at once.

"Come in for a cup?" Edith offered. Something in her tone was more like pleading, and Anthony knew inherently that a cup was not the only thing on either of their minds.

_Yes_, he thought._ I'd like nothing better_. His eyes traveled of their own volition to the pink curve of her lips, slightly parted, as she waited for his reply. _Yes,_ he hissed at himself. The word was there, formed at the back of his throat. It would all be so easy.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid. I'd feel badly leaving Gertrude at home alone for too long," he heard himself say lamely.

"You're a good brother, Anthony Strallan," Edith affirmed, though he could tell by the way she held one elbow across herself that she was disappointed. And so was he.

"Goodnight, Edith. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Anthony. Thank you."

"For what?" he asked.

Edith just smiled at him—a strange, sad smile—and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read! I know it's a bit slow-burning at the moment, but I have a feeling their Christmas trip will force certain unspoken feelings to surface. :)

I'm having such fun writing this. Thanks for sticking with me. And, as always, I appreciate each and every review.


	9. Dublin to Carlingford

There was something thrilling for Edith about seeing her bag next to Anthony's in the backseat of his old green Land Rover. She kept glancing over her shoulder at his faded leather satchel and her bright carpet bag, smiling to herself at the notion of spending a holiday away with him. Something about those bags sitting against one another seemed deeply meaningful, as though they were an indication of the future.

"Did you forget something?" Anthony finally asked.

Edith snapped her eyes forward and she shook her head, feeling a bit childish for her imaginings. "No, no I've got it all. Thanks."

"Good," Anthony muttered with one of his wide, polite smiles.

"It's unfortunate you couldn't get Gertrude to come for the holiday," Edith mused. They'd been in the car for ten or fifteen minutes, driving along the coast from Dublin to Carlingford.

"Yes, I'm sure she would have caused all sorts of mayhem. Gertie doesn't really do holidays anymore, though. Not since Joan passed."

"I can understand that," Edith said, watching the damp, green earth pass out her window. She felt Anthony look at her, but didn't turn her eyes.

"Are you cold?" he asked, turning up the heat before she had time to respond.

"I'm alright. You worry too much," she accused gently, smiling over at him.

They had stopped at Dunnes in the city before heading out because Anthony said the only places in Carlingford were boutique shops for tourists. He had given Edith free reign with the decorations, describing various rooms in the house as they meandered down the aisles.

"Have you got a mantle?" She had asked.

"Oh, yes, it's quite large. The living room is sunken, a few steps down from the kitchen with a low ceiling, and the mantle stretches the whole back wall, and below the mantle is stone. The fireplace itself is rather small, though. And the hearth is about knee high and deep."

Edith had to stop herself from teasing Anthony for his thoroughness. "It sounds lovely."

"Rather cozy, yes."

They picked up fresh garland, bundles of dried cranberries, white lights, and plenty of candles. Some red and gold cushions were added at Anthony's suggestion, and some knit throw blankets in cream and green.

By the time they were finished, Anthony had described in technical detail nearly every foot of his home by the sea, and Edith was already in love with it—Thick moldings and dark wood floors, bay windows in the two front bedrooms and claw foot tubs in the bathrooms, and creaky, narrow stairs that led to the little attic from the kitchen. Edith couldn't wait to see his home for herself.

"What on earth has got you so preoccupied?" Anthony asked with a raise of the eyebrow. "I've never known you to be so quiet."

"When I'm home I probably get through the day on less than twenty words," Edith replied, avoiding his question.

"I don't," Anthony began with a shake of his head that seemed to indicate displeasure. But then he appeared to catch himself. Clearing his throat, he started again. "Are you really so ignored by your family?"

"I prefer it, really. And it's not so much that I'm ignored, it's more like we agree to disagree."

"On what?"

"Everything," Edith scoffed. "I love them, of course, but I just don't have anything in common with them. So we respect each other's space. I don't ask them to understand me, and they don't ask me… well, anything."

Anthony frowned, but Edith couldn't decide whether it was in thought or disapproval.

"It's not as bad as I'm making it sound, really. Every family has a black sheep, Dr. Strallan. I'm my family's. That's all."

The sun had decided to make a rare appearance, resting atop a great sheet of clouds over the tossing gray ocean. The morning hour made it come in sideways through the window, reflecting golds and oranges in Anthony's sea-glass eyes, which Edith was so fond of. His blonde eyelashes were set off too, and the curls of his hair. He was wearing a half-zip sweater, hunter green, with a button-up shirt beneath, the collar button undone, as usual. His hands on the wheel seemed so large and firm and steady, his gaze so sure of the road they traveled, and Edith wished he could be as certain of her.

"Alright, what are you thinking of now?" he asked, half annoyed.

"Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Because normally you tell me everything that you're thinking of from what you're doing in workshop to what you plan to have for lunch and I can't get you to shut up, and now you're being awfully pensive and it's rather unnerving."

"I'm always pensive, even when I 'won't shut up' as you so kindly put it," she laughed.

"How's Anna?" he asked, clearly hoping to keep the conversation going.

"Oh fine. I think. You know I haven't actually talked to her in, gosh, two weeks?"

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, of course. I just keep forgetting to call her back. Otherwise occupied, I suppose."

Anthony didn't seem to have much in way of response. Edith watched his eyes dart back and forth across the road, watched the steady rise and fall of his broad chest. It was ridiculous of course, the way her entire body reacted to Anthony's presence. Here, in the car, they were so close. It would be so easy for Edith to reach out and brush his hand, or shoulder, or to run her finger inside the collar of his shirt. How warm would his neck be, exactly, she wondered.

"How long to Carlingford?" Edith asked quietly.

"Another hour or so. Why? Bored already?" he teased.

"Not in the least. I was just curious. I'm eager to see the hidden lair of the mysterious Dr. Strallan."

Anthony cast a sideways look at her, somewhere between admonishing and questioning. "If you're hoping to find something of interest you'll be sorely disappointed. I'm as dull in Carlingford as I am in Dublin, I assure you."

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Edith said quickly, immediately wishing she hadn't.

"Do what?"

"Well, call yourself dull." Trying to save face she explained, "I mean, if you're so 'dull' and I spend nearly all my time with you then what does that make me? And I'm not dull at all, I'm terribly funny and exciting and utterly delightful, so you must be tolerable at least." She was joking, of course, but she needn't explain that to him. He gave her that crooked grin, tinged as always with a little sadness.

"No one would dare accuse you of being dull, Edith."

"You clearly haven't spent time with my sisters," she laughed.

"Anything I should know to prepare myself?"

"Well, Mary will try her damnedest to be dissatisfied with everything, and Matthew will make up for it by being overly complementary. Sybil will be fussing over everyone, particularly Mary, and she'll want to play games, loads of games. Charades and Pass the Orange and whatnot, and Tom will indulge her every whim."

"And you? Anything I should know ahead of time?"

"I'll probably be on edge and snappish the whole weekend, and altogether unpleasant to be around."

"So nothing will change then?" he teased. Laughing at Edith's feigned dirty look, he added, "Anyway, you've got me, for whatever that's worth, and I'm in your camp. If need be we can force Mary to sleep in the gardening shed."

"Thank you," she giggled, forcing her gaze from his perfectly imperfect visage to the view out her own window.

Edith had never wanted for much. As a child her birthdays were usually celebrated with quiet dinners, Mrs. Hughes' famous apricot cake, and loads of books and drawing pencils. Her tastes had never been extravagant and she was easy to please. What her parents weren't willing to give, Edith was just as happy to work for. As such, she'd never learned the skill of getting what she desired. She was neither manipulative, nor terribly charming. She lacked social prowess and that inherently beguiling nature most women in her family seemed to have.

Now, for the first time in her life, Edith was faced with longing for something and being entirely unsure of how to go about obtaining it, or even if she had the right to try. Anthony was so close, so painfully tangible, that every moment they were together something in her ached to touch him. And they were together almost all the time. When they weren't together she was thinking about him, worrying that he was eating a proper meal and getting enough sleep, wondering if he might possibly know, or care, how enormously she loved him.

Edith had been relatively sure she was destined to be alone forever until she moved to Dublin. She wasn't the dramatic sort, but after years of disappointment, of waiting, of constant disinterest between her and the opposite sex, she was convinced that no one on earth was meant to know her—really know her. And then Anthony had come along, and Edith knew intrinsically that she'd simply been waiting for him. In fact, Edith suspected she'd been waiting for Anthony since the day she was born.

The prospect of a holiday together, the first day of which they would be alone, was quite overwhelming for her. What should she do? How should she behave? She hadn't the first notion of how to be alluring or romantic, and she was fairly certain Anthony wouldn't respond well to that anyway. And what if she finally told him everything, and he wasn't interested? She couldn't bear it, and to be stuck in a remote location for three days after the awkwardness of rejection would be her personal hell. _Oh god,_ she thought, wincing at the revolving ideas that she couldn't turn off. _Oh god, don't let me bugger this. Please don't ruin everything Edith. Please, please let him love me._

"Please don't be so anxious. It will all be fine, I promise," Anthony pleaded. Edith hadn't realized how tightly wound she'd become. She was curled on the seat, biting the knuckle of her thumb, nearly on the verge of tears.

Edith flushed with embarrassment, putting her feet back on the floor and holding her hands still in her lap.

"Don't worry about me," she assured. Without thinking she laid her hand against the back of his arm.

They both flinched at the unplanned and sudden contact, glanced at each other, and looked away again. The rest of the drive was spent largely in silence.

Anthony's home was not really in Carlingford, but quite a bit further north, on a little seaside road, and across the lane a grassy bank fell away to black rock and the grey bay. The whitewashed house, unimposing and handsome as its owner, was partially hidden from the road with a pleasantly unkempt garden and vines that climbed the stone wall in front.

"Oh, Anthony," Edith sighed, "Gosh, it's absolutely lovely." She was peering out the window as they approached, taking in the stone wall and the quaint iron gate that led to the front walk.

"Do you really like it?" he asked, unable to hide his excitement at her reaction.

"Like it?" she asked, "I don't know how you ever leave."

"Don't you?" Anthony muttered, causing Edith's head to turn from the picturesque cottage to Anthony, but by the time she did he was blushing and looking away.

Inside, Edith was pleased to discover, was equally as quaint and warm. The walls were all the same shade of light blue-gray, which went perfectly with the thick white moldings and dark, dark wood flooring. It was small, but not uncomfortably so, and there were plenty of paned windows that allowed the white winter light to flood in.

From the back drive, where they had parked, a mudroom with a stone floor and a gardening sink led into the square kitchen—well-equipped and tidy. From there the living room sunk down to the left, and the dining room to the right.

Straight ahead a narrow hall led to a washroom before opening to the front entry on the right, and a tiny library to the left, which looked very much like the most-used room in the whole house. The next two doors were the front bedrooms, joined by a bath with green glass tiles and an antique sink. Then the hall took a sharp turn and led to the other two bedrooms, also modest in size but lovely.

As Anthony gave the official tour, Edith tried not to fawn over each detail too enthusiastically. But it was hard, when every tiny thing either appealed to her, or gave her another bit of insight into the secretly enchanting world of Dr. Strallan. Old black and white photos had been blown-up and kept in thick black frames with cream mats and hung down the hallway. In the library two handsome chairs sat in a bay window, which looked over the back garden, and the walls were lined with gobs of books that Edith couldn't wait to peruse in detail.

In the living room, which was just as cozy as Anthony had described, he had hung his uncle's old fly fishing gear on one wall, and more pictures of he and Gertie and their family were placed lovingly on the mantle. Everything in the house was simple, clean. It was perhaps a bit masculine, missing throw pillows and other such touches, but Anthony had done very well altogether.

"This will be your room, if you wish," Anthony said, opening the second-to-last door down the hallway. It was the only room that wasn't blue or green or gray. Instead its walls were a warm color between mauve and rose, set off by the simple ivory linens and cast-iron bedframe. Its window had a view of the rolling green fields and, as the road curved, of the gray ocean beyond.

Anthony set Edith's bag, which he had insisted on carrying, on the upholstered bench at the foot of her bed. "If you get cold there are plenty of blankets here in the closet," he explained, gesturing to a pair of white doors. "And you have your own bath through there."

"It's perfect," Edith said gratefully.

Anthony smiled, relieved. "I know it's a bit sparse," he began apologetically, but Edith interrupted.

"Sparse is not quite the word I'd use. It's very tidy."

"Don't sound so surprised," he said dryly, leading her back out of the room.

"Did you clean before I came?" she asked knowingly.

"I'll never tell," he sniffed. "Now, Miss Crawley, let's put you to work."

Two hours later, Edith looked around, the sleeves of her cardigan pushed up to her elbows, and she was quite satisfied. The garland had been laid along the mantle and the partition between the kitchen and the living room, candles were put absolutely everywhere, the throw pillows and blankets tossed onto Anthony's beige sectional, and a fire was crackling in the stove. She had rearranged a few small things, with Anthony's permission of course. Altogether, her work had a very appealing effect.

"What's that? And where have you been?" Edith asked as Anthony came in from the kitchen, a dusty box filling his arms.

"I was in the attic. That place needs a good clearing."

"I charge by the hour."

"This," Anthony said, ignoring her, "Is a very old and very unpredictable box of ornaments." He dropped the box on the coffee table and stood beside her, looking around at her work.

"Unpredictable?"

"I've absolutely no idea what's in here or what era they're all from, but there you have it," he muttered, distracted. "This is wonderful. It looks so different in here."

"We haven't a tree to put them on."

"We will when we go into town. You ready?"

"I'm not wearing a stitch of makeup, my jeans have holes, and I'm in your sweater." Anthony looked at her blankly. "Lead the way, Doctor."

As Edith followed him back to the car, straightening her hair and wiping some dust from her white tee, she smiled to herself, knowing full well she would follow that tall man in front of her anywhere, from town to Timbuktu.


	10. The Holiday Pt I

Edith realized, as she and Anthony put their groceries in the car and Anthony double-checked the ties on the tree, that it all felt very married. If they were together, absolutely nothing about this little outing would have changed, except that maybe she would have slipped her hand into his while they were picking out the tree, or as it rested on the console between them in the car. And of course, it would be different when they returned home to the dark and the quiet.

"I think we've done quite well with the tree," Anthony offered, buckling his seatbelt.

"Quite well," Edith agreed weakly, trying not to look so frenzied. She'd always found Anthony attractive, of course, but every time he managed to make her happy, which admittedly didn't take much, her whole body seemed to hum with want of touching him. Nothing lascivious or tawdry, she simply wanted to hold him, to press against his thin lips, to prove to herself that he was real.

"Are you alright? You're a little flushed," he asked.

Edith laughed, wondering if she should just explain the way her stomach dropped and her legs felt weak and her every nerve shivered whenever he looked at her. "I'm fine. Starving, though."

"Well let's get home, shall we?" he confirmed, pulling the car onto the road.

_Home_, Edith thought with a little thrill, and she wondered if he recognized what he'd said.

As they prepared their chicken dinner, Edith couldn't help perseverating on the idea that married life with Anthony would be like this. He chatted jovially about his plans for the house, what a shambles it was in when he first bought it, right after Maud had died. Gertrude had helped him with some of the rooms, but it was nice to do something to his own liking. Edith sat on the counter and watched him chop carrots and beets for the salad, his square, dry hands stained red from the beet juice.

She liked the way he tossed the dishrag over his shoulder while he worked, the way he moved easily between the fridge and the counter and the oven.

"You're much more at ease here," Edith observed as he checked on the baking chicken.

Anthony shrugged. "It's my home, that's all. The flat in Dublin is more than adequate, but it's just a place I stay really." He and Edith smiled at each other a moment before he offered to top off her wine. Outside the wind had picked up and it sounded like a light rain had begun to fall.

"I didn't know you could cook, either. All those dinners I've made and you never muttered a word," she accused, slipping off the counter to set out plates and flatware.

"Well you never asked, did you? Besides, I can make two things: chicken and rice, and pasta. Your pumpkin curry and enchiladas and such were far better I assure you."

"Well between the two of us we'll never starve," she said with a laugh.

"No," Anthony agreed. His smile was strange, pensive. Edith longed to break the silence, to tell him they should just get it over with and admit they're perfect for each other, and she nearly did. But as soon as she opened her mouth to speak it suddenly crossed her mind that perhaps he didn't feel the same way she did. Perhaps he was just overly kind, and she was mistaking honest generosity for affection.

"Care to put on some music? I have a dock down there if you want to put your iPod on."

She smiled, no longer surprised when he spoke her thoughts before she could.

"Yes, Dr. Strallan," she sighed with a dreamy little smile, stepping down into the living room and watching him move as she fiddled with her iPod, picking a playlist of quiet classical music—Tchaikovsky and Brahms and Puccini. _There's time_, she thought, forcing herself to relax. _Plenty of time_.

After dinner they moved to the deep, soft sofa in the living room. Anthony apologized for having no television, which Edith assured him didn't matter a bit. She suggested turning off the lamps so they might enjoy the fire and the small Christmas tree they had decorated, complete with white lights. Without asking Anthony threw a blanket over Edith's lap as she tucked her feet beneath her, before settling onto the other end of the couch.

Between the music, the warmth of the fire and the glow of the tree, and the few glasses of wine, Edith was suddenly drowsy. It had, she supposed, been a long day altogether.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Anthony offered, never failing to notice her every expression.

"No, certainly not," she answered firmly, unwilling to let this precious time go to waste. "Read to me, won't you?"

"Read?" he asked dubiously.

"You've an extensive library, Dr. Strallan, and there's no television, and the night is young. What else would we do to pass the time?" Her tone had just barely edged toward flirtatious and still she felt bold, testing his limits.

"Any requests?"

Edith shook her head. Anthony left and returned with a collection Seamus Heaney poetry, which Edith noticed was cracked at the spine and had several flagged pages. Even from where she was lying she could see that Anthony had notes in all the margins. She smiled to herself at her dear professor of literature, so lovely and kind, who wrote notes to himself in his own books as though he were in school again. She loved him so completely.

As Anthony began to read, Edith closed her eyes. He read aloud very well, losing some of the tenuousness his voice could sometimes carry in conversation. And with her eyes closed she could still see the shift of his eyebrows, the slight tilt of his head, the way he held the book with one great hand. And as Edith let herself drift into the warm lull of Anthony's deep, gentle voice, she had a fleeting thought: Never in her life had she felt safer or so content.

Edith's muscles were stiff, and she was vaguely aware of something over her legs. It wasn't until she pulled her eyes open that she realized the weight on her legs was Anthony's arms. At some point her feet had found their way into his lap, and whether she had been the one to put them there or he had done it himself she didn't know. Anthony's left arm was stretched over her shins, his hand cupping her knee while his right hand held her feet. His head was resting on the back of the sofa, turned towards her, the book they'd been reading was face down on the arm of the couch beside him.

Blanket up to her chin, Edith didn't dare move a muscle. Instead, she watched Anthony, the rise and fall of his chest, the slight frown he bore in his sleep. She wondered if he always frowned in his sleep, or if he was having a particularly frown-worthy dream. From their current positions she could really study him, the grain of his unshaven face, the square line of his jaw, the unusual shape of his lips. Edith had spent so much of her adult life feeling utterly alone, that she could never take this for granted, this proximity to him.

Anthony began to stir and Edith closed her eyes, hoping he would go back to sleep. It couldn't be later than two or three, she figured. The music had stopped and the fire was down to embers, and outside the wind kept steady against the house. But her wish was not to be granted. She could feel his eyes on her, feel him sitting up. His hand ran along her left shin, all the way down to her ankle, before he gently removed her feet from his lap and stood.

The next thing she felt was heavy quilt being laid on top of the blanket she already had, and being tucked under her feet with the utmost care. And then, to her immense delight, she felt a hand, dry and masculine, brush her cheek affectionately, and then her chin. The glow from the tree lights went dark and he was gone.

It was the most intimate moment Edith and Anthony had shared in their many months together, and Edith was barely awake for it. As she helplessly fell back into that heavy draw of sleep, burrowing further into the cushions, she smiled, telling herself to remember tomorrow that it hadn't been a dream.

When Edith woke the next morning, the first thing she saw was an empty mug with a note taped on it, set on the coffee table before her. The note read _Tea's on in the kitchen. I hope you brought a hat._

"What on earth?" she muttered to herself, sitting up and rubbing the haze of sleep from her face. She thought it must have been early because of the white glare peaking through the drapes, but when she stumbled into the kitchen for tea, her jaw dropped. No matter how mature Edith Crawley grew, no matter the years that passed or the hardships she faced, she would never feel anything but giddy when she woke up and found it had snowed in the night.

Peering through the kitchen window, Edith spotted Anthony shoveling the front walk. He wore muck boots and a knit cap that would have looked ridiculous if she didn't adore him so much. She had to force herself not to run as she made her way to the front door.

"Lovely beach weather, no?" she called, holding her mug in both hands and leaning against the doorframe.

Anthony straightened and smiled widely at her. His nose was red with cold. "Thought we might lie in the sun later, perhaps go for a swim?" he asked dryly, propping his hands on the handle of the shovel.

"Perhaps," she giggled. "Aren't you freezing, Anthony? Come inside and have some breakfast."

"I'm nearly done. I had to do the drive for your sisters and figured while I was out here I'd do the walk as well. Say, your sisters are coming together, yes?"

"Mm-hmm," Edith nodded, blowing on her tea. Knowing what his next question would be she said, "Matthew rented a four-by-four. Not to worry."

"Very well," he nodded. "Now get inside before you ice over."

"Yes, Dr. Strallan," Edith sighed, rolling her eyes at him playfully. She was just about to shut the door when he stopped her.

"And Edith?"

"Yes?"

"I keep my sweaters on the left side of the closet." And then he simply went back to shoveling snow.

Edith's hair was still wet when the others arrived. Anthony showed them to their rooms and quietly went about making breakfast. "What on earth are you wearing?" were the first words from Mary's lips.

Edith glanced down. She was wearing her favorite faded, cuffed jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt, and one of Anthony's thickest gray cardigans, which she had chosen with great care from the shelf in his closet. "Clothes, Mary," she replied simply, hugging Matthew hello. "How was the drive?"

"Snow was a bit of a surprise, but it was fine. It's good to see you little sister," Matthew said with a smile, rubbing Edith's head like she were a child. Matthew had grown up with the Crawley girls, and very little about his relationship with Edith had changed since she was five and he was seven.

"Where are Tom and Sybil?" Edith asked. They were all three standing awkwardly in the hallway, and Edith peered around them to the bedrooms.

"In the bathroom. Sybil's a bit under the weather," Matthew said. Edith arched an eyebrow.

"Matthew, call the Four Seasons and cancel our reservation, won't you? I think this will be fine," Mary said boldly. Matthew nodded and moved to their room, presumably to get his phone.

"You made a hotel reservation?" Edith hissed, whispering so that Anthony might not hear and be offended.

"Edith, you told us we were having our Christmas at the 'country home' of some old professor who used to be chummy with Papa. I had no idea what to expect."

"I'm glad we meet your standards," Edith growled, rolling her eyes. "Is Sybil alright?"

"Yes. She's just pregnant." Mary said this coolly, her beautiful face as stony blank as ever.

"What? Why didn't she tell me?" Edith asked, genuinely hurt.

"I don't know. Must be something in the water, though. Anna's pregnant too."

"Anna? My Anna?"

"What do you mean 'your Anna'? You haven't seen her in months."

Mary began digging in her purse as Edith flushed, wavering between anger and insult. "Well, she was my friend first," Edith began, realizing immediately how infantile she sounded.

"Oh god, Edith, you're so selfish. You know, Anna married John and Matthew and I work with him, and we all live near-by now, so we've gotten really close. It has nothing to do with you. And maybe if you pick up your phone once in a while," Mary rattled off, distracted by her own mobile. "Ugh, of course there's no service," she whined. Turning from Edith she called down the hall, "Matthew! Have you service?" before disappearing into their room.

Left alone in the dark hall, Edith felt very near tears.

"Well she's a real terror, isn't she? How on earth did you come from the same people?" Anthony asked softly. He was closer to Edith than she realized, and when she turned to face him, she nearly ran into his chest.

"I don't know," she sighed. "Did you hear all that?"

"Afraid so, sweet girl," he muttered, using the only nickname he'd ever given Edith. She melted a little every time he said it too. He leaned down closer to her and whispered, "If I'd known she booked a room I would have shown her the sleeping bags in the garden shed and let her think she was staying there."

Edith couldn't help but smile. "You're much more than that, you know. More, I mean, than just some 'old professor who's chummy with Papa.' You're my, well my friend, of course, but," she stumbled, trying to mend what Mary had done.

"For a writer you're not very articulate," Anthony laughed, mocking her with her own words. Edith blushed furiously. "Look, quiche is in the oven, your sisters seem otherwise engaged. And it looks like Father Christmas has left something for you under the tree."

Edith frowned at the man standing before her. "What do you mean?"

"Well why don't you go find out for yourself?" he said haughtily, leaving her speechless as he went back into the kitchen.

Edith seemed to move before her brain could process much. But sure enough, below their little tree were three presents in tidy gold paper, all addressed to Edith. She looked up into the kitchen where Anthony was pouring more tea and successfully ignoring her.

"Anthony Strallan, what on earth is this?" she asked, her voice sharp and accusing more than confused.

"Well I'm no expert, but they look like presents," he said dryly without looking at her. "I believe traditionally you're meant to open them."

Edith smiled, dropping to the floor, legs crossed, as though she were a child again. The first package was in a long, flat box. The tag read _For days when my sweaters aren't enough_ and inside was a lovely rose scarf, made of pashmina and terribly soft. She wrapped it around her neck before moving to the second. This package, she could tell, was a book. It was a small collection of Yeats poetry, beautifully bound in pale blue with silver etched writing and a navy ribbon to mark one's place. The ribbon was set at "To a Young Girl" and in the margin Anthony wrote, _For days when you can't find the words. _As Edith forced herself not to cry, she opened the third gift. This box was flat, and heavy, roughly the size of her hand. It contained a paperweight, round and glass, with a piece of old paper inside. On the paper was a painting of a sparrow holding a rose in its beak, and in old-fashion writing it read, _Home is where the story begins_. When Edith lifted the paperweight, she found a note folded beneath it from Anthony that said _For everyday, and every story_.

Edith held the little tokens in her hands and closed her eyes, trying to think back to every gift she'd ever received. Never, no matter how far back she went, could she remember getting such lovely things. Trembling, she turned back to the poem Anthony had marked. "My dear, my dear, I know more than another what makes your heart beat so," were the first lines.

"Anthony," she tried to call, but her voice cracked and went silent. When she finally managed to stand, his back was to her. She watched him move, setting out plates and forks, checking the quiche, taking a bowl of fruit from the fridge. Edith was almost angry that he was going so casually about his business while she was standing just a few feet away, utterly speechless with love for him. Edith took a step forward, ready to tell him exactly how she felt.

"What's that glorious smell? I'm famished," Matthew asked, coming down the hall followed closely by Tom.

Reaching the kitchen Tom said, "Anthony, we really can't thank you enough for hosting our orphan holiday."

"You needn't thank me at all, I'm glad for the company," Anthony replied, though Edith recognized the shyness in his tone. All three men glanced over at her then.

"Edith, are you alright? You're all red," Matthew asked bluntly.

Edith quickly crumpled up the wrapping and gathered her things. "Yes, of course. I'm going to go check on Sybil," she muttered, making her escape. Finding Sybil's door locked and hearing Mary fussing with her things, Edith found her way to her room. Leaning against the shut door, she finally took a breath. Setting her book and paperweight down on the bed, she smiled, running her fingers over the treasures.

"Edith, darling? I'm so sorry. Come out and say hi to me," Sybil called, knocking on the door.

"Coming," Edith called, stealing one last glance at Anthony's notes and instinctively pulling his sweater tighter around her. "I'm coming."

* * *

A/N: Thank you, dear readers, for bearing with me. I know how badly we've all been wanting a kiss but our poor Edith and Anthony are just so shy, aren't they? BUT, with the gifts, and the wine later, and it being Christmas Eve, I have a feeling the next chapter is going to mark a major change in their relationship. :)

Thank you, as always, for your lovely reviews and kind encouragement. If you didn't enjoy this it wouldn't be nearly as fun to write. And thank you for continuing to read!  
Eleanor


	11. The Holiday Pt II

After a rough beginning, the rest of the day seemed to progress smoothly enough. When Mary emerged from her room her mood seemed a bit more at ease, and she even went so far as to thank Anthony for his hospitality. The majority of the day was spent with Anthony, Edith, and Sybil in the kitchen preparing the big holiday dinner, and Mary, Tom, and Matthew in the living room playing cribbage and things. It was pleasant, Edith thought, having everyone together. And there was something neutralizing about being in Anthony's home, or perhaps it was Anthony himself. Whatever it was, Edith didn't feel so invisible, or so utterly alone as she usually did around her sisters.

"Mr. Strallan, is there beach access nearby?" Mary asked from her spot on the sofa.

"It's _Dr._ Strallan," Edith corrected quickly.

"It's Anthony," he said definitively, smiling pointedly at Edith. "And yes, there's a gate across the street with some steps down to the shore. If you're going to brave it, however, I'd go now. The tide will be heading back in and by the time it's out again it'll be too dark."

"What do you say, gentlemen? Care for a walk along the beach?" Mary asked, turning back to Matthew and Tom.

"In a foot of snow?" Tom asked skeptically.

"Oh yes, let's!" Sybil enthused from the over where she'd just turned the roasting potatoes. "We've plenty of warm clothes. It'll be an adventure."

"Jaysus, my wife's 'adventures' are going to be the death of me," Tom laughed.

"Alright," Matthew sighed, standing and draining his beer. "Edith, will you two come?"

"Someone has to stay and keep an eye on the food," Mary pointed out sharply.

"I'll stay," Anthony offered, speaking only to Edith.

"I don't care to go, actually," Edith said to everyone. "It's bloody cold out, and bound to be wet. I'd much rather stay here where it's dry and warm, thank you."

"Anthony?" Matthew asked, ignoring the way his wife took an impatient breath.

"Thank you, no. I'm afraid I agree with Edith. A bit cold and damp for my liking. But you all have fun. Send up a flare if you get lost," Anthony answered jovially.

"Alright, let's go," Mary confirmed.

"There are spare coats and gloves and things in the mudroom there," Anthony offered, "If you need them."

When the others were sufficiently bundled and out the door, Edith and Anthony watched them disappear across the road from the window in the dining room. Edith shook her head. Even in a thick layer of all-weather clothing, Mary still looked beautiful. She was tall and lean as ever, her dark hair in a flawless plate down her back, her white skin only enhanced by the cold turning her cheeks red. And for the first time in her life, Edith didn't care at all—not about Mary's rudeness, or her beauty, or her command.

"Thank you," Edith finally said, breaking the silence. The afternoon was made darker by the thick snow clouds, and when she turned to Anthony they were both half-cast in shadow in the unlit dining room. He stared down at her with his blue eyes, his expression intense but waiting.

"Thank you for the gifts. They were absolutely," she shook her head, struggling for the words, "well the most perfect and thoughtful gifts I have ever received. Thank you. I'm only sorry I didn't get you anything."

"I didn't want you to get me anything," Anthony replied quickly, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "Edith, those little things, they're just trifles really."

"They meant a lot to me," she said, almost hurt that he was downplaying them.

"I'm glad. I only mean that they're just… symbolic, you know, representative I suppose," he stuttered.

"Anthony, between the two of us it's going to take two years to have a conversation that probably should have happened two months ago," she laughed, feeling a strange combination of fear and excitement swell her chest at the acknowledgment.

"Edith," Anthony began, placing one hand gingerly on her upper arm. And just as he was about to continue, the timer on the roast went off. Edith jumped visibly, jarred by the sudden interruption when it had seemed for just a moment that the rest of the world had disappeared.

"That's the damn roast," she sighed.

Anthony, to Edith's surprise, laughed. "Is it ready to come out or does it just need turning or what?"

"It needs basting and turning," Edith muttered, looking down at her feet. Anthony, in his most forward gesture yet, kissed her temple before brushing past her into the kitchen.

Edith smiled, feeling the now familiar warmth roll through her that always came with nearness to Anthony. He had been about to say something, and she had a fair idea what it was. And perhaps it was wise to wait until later, when they would have time to properly discuss it without interruption.

"Anthony, I can do that," she called, moving toward the kitchen.

"I don't doubt it," was his reply. "Why don't you open a bottle instead, hmm?"

The rest of their time alone was spent largely in silence, but then Edith and Anthony never did need many words to understand one another.

The others returned just as it was getting dark, soaked through and shivering and laughing. Edith greeted them at the door to the mudroom with a laundry basket for their wet things. "Anthony has the makings for hot toddies or Irish coffee ready to go if you want a nip to warm up," she offered, much to Matthew and Tom's delight.

Sybil, the last one in and the slowest to get undressed, was still giggling as she struggled with her boots. "You should have come, Edith. It was fun," she smiled.

"I had my fun right here, thank you, and without risking frostbite," Edith said quickly. Sybil's great green eyes shot up, all alit with intrigue.

"Did you? Tell me, how close are you to Dr. Strallan exactly?"

Edith blushed. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Doesn't answer the question," Sybil laughed. Edith tried to ignore her younger sister, but it was difficult. Sybil was a happy, exuberant young woman, and quite tenacious when it came to getting what she wanted. She was hard to deny, especially with her great eyes and contagious smile and inexhaustible pleading.

"Sybil, really," Edith whispered, but Mary interrupted, poking her head into the little room.

"I'm going to soak my feet in the tub to warm up. Care to join?" Mary asked.

"Yes, let's all go have a chat," Sybil said, pulling Edith by the hand after Mary.

Totally unwilling to unfurl her entire history with Anthony in front of Mary, Edith managed to evade Sybil's questions by turning their talk to the baby.

"I still can't believe it," Edith sighed, sitting on the bathroom counter. Her sisters were on either end of the claw foot tub, pants rolled up to their calves as their feet rested in several inches of water. "It's strange to think of you as a mother."

"Oh please, Sybil's been nurturing everything she could get her hands on since we were children," Mary said. "It makes sense that she's the first to be a mother."

"Not the last, I hope," Sybil said pointedly.

"I do wish you had told me," Edith said. "And Anna too."

"Well you're the one who moved to Dublin," Mary huffed.

"Sybil lives in Dublin," Edith countered, trying not to get worked up.

"I wanted to tell you in person, darling," Sybil explained. "And anyway, I only told Mary when they got in last night."

"Well I can't wait to be an aunt," Edith said definitively.

"Since when are you so keen on children?" Mary asked. When Edith failed to form a reply quickly, Mary turned back to Sybil, changing the subject to the kitchen renovation she and Matthew were planning.

Edith didn't hear a word of Mary's plans. She was too busy wondering when indeed she'd grown so keen on children. She'd never really been interested before, it's true. Maybe it was her age, just nature taking its course. But somehow Edith knew her sudden interest in children had much more to do with this house, and the dear man who had welcomed her into it, and her undeniable conviction that they were made for each other.

Dinner was served, and was so delicious that even Mary couldn't find a reason to complain. Matthew and Tom were very loud and funny, perfectly balanced by Anthony's wit and dry humor. After the dishes were cleared and washed, and dinner packed away, Sybil insisted they all play games.

"I warned you," Edith said under her breath to Anthony. "Not to worry, though. You'll be on my team and I'm brilliant."

"That's my girl," Anthony muttered, leading Edith from the kitchen into the living room by the small of her back.

First up was charades. Matthew kicked-off by trying to act out the clue "Mrs. Habersham," which had everyone in stitches. Edith and Anthony were sitting on the hearth before the crackling fire on two great cushions. Sybil was on the floor, leaning against Tom, who shared the couch with Mary. They were all lit up as they watched Matthew—from laughing and the Christmas lights and the wine—and Edith couldn't help but think that it was all how it should be. Sitting so close to Anthony, she could feel his deep, quiet laughter, and more than once his hand ran across her shoulders, and she knew that no holiday would feel right without him from now on.

Edith and Anthony did win charades, and they also won at Pictionary, and at pass-the-orange. They were well on their way to winning at Trivial Pursuit too, until Sybil finally called it quits. "That's it," she said after Edith and Anthony claimed the yellow piece of pie. "Clearly this game is heading in the same direction of the others, and I'm exhausted. I think I'll turn in."

"Us as well," Matthew laughed. "And next time, Anthony's on our team."

"You'd do better to take Edith," Anthony said shyly.

"No, next time you two aren't going to be together regardless, and you're certainly not going to be allowed to take literary clues," Mary declared. Even the recognition that there might be a next time was enough for Edith to dislike Mary a little less.

It was well after midnight as everyone made their way down the hall to their rooms, sleepy and half-drunk. Edith lingered at the end of the hall with Anthony, waiting for the others' doors to shut.

"This house hasn't seen a night like this in at least ten years," Anthony sighed, rubbing his neck with a relaxed smile.

"I haven't enjoyed my sisters in much longer than that," Edith said with a little wry grin. "At least not together."

"The trouble with three children, I suppose. One's always getting left out."

"The trouble lies in my utter incapability to be fashionable or charming," Edith laughed sadly.

"According to whom exactly?" he whispered.

Feeling bold, Edith stepped forward and quickly kissed Anthony on the cheek. "Thank you again."

"You'll have to stop thanking me. Really. It's been wonderful." They were quiet for a moment, and unbearably still. "I should be turning in," Anthony said, though he didn't seem to believe himself. His face was grave, and neither made a move for their respective doors.

In the dark of the hallway, Anthony's eyes seemed to glow, like phosphorescence in a black ocean. Edith had always been prone to staring at them, but in the past she'd managed to pull herself away before it grew awkward or telling. Now, though, now she stared into them, as if she were swimming laps in the blueness, and he stared right back.

Edith was calm, collected, content. She was happy just to be standing in the same space as him, breathing the same air. But then Anthony's eyes traveled, very subtly, to her mouth, and suddenly standing with Anthony wasn't nearly enough. Realizing that if she wanted him so badly she might as well try, Edith stepped forward, putting herself practically into his broad chest. Her hands felt small as they slid presumptuously from his forearms to his biceps. All of it would be more manageable, she thought, if she weren't a whole head and a half shorter than Anthony.

Testing his limits, Edith glanced up questioningly, waiting for him to stop her. But he made no attempt. She allowed her hands to travel further, up to his muscular shoulders, and finally to the bare skin of his neck. Anthony let out a shuddering sigh. Even as he began to shake his head slowly, his hands found her waist of their own volition.

"Edith," he whispered, almost like a warning. Before he could ruin the moment, Edith made a snap decision. Stretching on her toes, she kissed him again, this time on the corner of his mouth. Not so bold as on his lips, but not so platonic as the cheek. She had expected him to turn away, and as she began to lower herself back onto her flat feet, he did turn, but not away from her.

Bending his head he caught her mouth with his.

Their first kiss was soft, careful, dry. Anthony's lips were warm and brushed against Edith's sweetly. When their lips parted, they both sighed, not letting go of one another.

"Edith," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, "For so long, I've wanted to," but she cut him off.

Their second kiss took both of them by surprise. Anthony's arms wrapped around Edith's ribs as she gripped, quite helplessly, at his neck. His mouth was still gentle and mild, like Anthony himself. But also like Anthony there was a certain quiet confidence in them as he stole a taste of Edith's bottom lip. When she parted her mouth a bit more to let him, Anthony lost a bit of the restraint he always practiced so well. He pulled Edith tighter against him and coaxed her mouth open just a bit further.

It was the little groan that escaped Edith that seemed to bring him back. Anthony set her down quite suddenly and dropped his hands. Even in the dark Edith could see the color in his cheeks, and feel the burning in hers.

"Please don't," she pleaded, sounding much more desperate than she had intended.

"Don't what?" he asked breathlessly.

"Please don't ruin this by analyzing and over-thinking and trying to convince yourself it's all a mistake."

"Edith," he began, but she clapped a hand over his mouth.

"I know you, and I know you need time to adjust to things. So just don't say another word, please. I'll go into my room like a good soldier, and you'll go into yours, and we'll both have very sweet dreams, alright?"

Anthony barely managed a nod as Edith kissed him on the cheek again and deftly slipped into her room.

Hours later, Edith was lying awake, staring at the wall separating her room from Anthony's. She had thought her quick departure was wise, and maybe it was, but Edith wished she'd silenced him with something much more intimate than a hand over the mouth. Her entire body ached for him, felt alive and electrified and restless.

If she had suspected before, or wondered at all, she was entirely certain after that kiss that she was profoundly and wholly and maddeningly in love with the man on the other side of that wall. She also knew, with the same amount of certainty, that he loved her back. She saw it in those blue eyes, felt it in his hands, and in his lips. She smiled broadly and rolled over, fighting the urge to go to his room right now. _There's time for that_, she thought happily, _a lifetime of it_.

It took quite a while, but when Edith did fall asleep that night, it was with a smile on her lips, and the knowledge that in the morning everything would be just a little brighter than it had been the day before.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read and review! It took a long time for our poor dears to get to it, but now maybe they'll finally have the nerve to say some of the things they've been thinking. :)

Next chapter is from Anthony's perspective.

Thank you again!  
Eleanor


	12. Unrecognizable

Anthony barely slept that night, and still he woke feeling more rested than he had in a very long time. A great burden had been lifted from his shoulders; the weight of uncertainty that had pressed on him for months had been lost somewhere on Edith Crawley's lips. Even now, as he stood in a hot shower, staring up at a pre-dawn sky through his skylight, he smiled to himself at the memory of her. He'd be lying if he said every inch of him inside and out didn't hurt for her. It almost frightened him, his reaction to their relatively innocent kisses.

Of course, there was that nagging and consistent reminder in the back of his mind, like a faucet dripping in a distant room. It told him to be cautious, to keep his feet on the ground, and to always act in Edith's best interest, even if it broke his heart.

In the mirror of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, Anthony examined his reflection. It was the same reflection he'd seen for fifty years, though it had gradually and incrementally gotten grayer, more lines in the face, less hair around the forehead perhaps. "Rather pudgy these days, old friend," he muttered to himself, poking the very slight belly he had recently formed. He smiled to himself like a fool, knowing that it was likely Edith's cooking that had added the extra pounds. Snapping to, he frowned at the mirror and scolded himself for acting like a school boy.

In his closet, Anthony turned to his shelves of sweaters, just as he had done every morning for the majority of his adult life. Trousers, shirt, sweater—his wardrobe certainly wasn't fussy. Now, though, standing before the great array of blues, greens, grays, and browns, Anthony began to wonder which Edith would prefer for herself, and which she would prefer on him. Choosing one at random, he slipped it over his plaid button-up shirt only to realize it was one of Edith's favorites. A thick fisherman's sweater in heather gray, a bit of a v-neck and a downturned collar, and he smiled again. She'd borrowed it just briefly the last time she had been to his flat in Dublin, which was always too cold for her. He had folded it back up and packed it home, and now he could detect the slightest hint of Edith's smell on it—her shea lotion, the light hint of lavender from her shampoo.

"Good god, man, get a hold of yourself," he grumbled, straightening his sweater and stalking off. It was barely seven by then, and he knew the rest of the house would still be sleeping. As he passed Edith's door he paused, listening in the hopes of hearing her up and about. All he heard was the stillness of a house at rest, and the quickening of his own heartbeat.

As stealthily as possible, Anthony cracked her door, stealing a glance. Edith was facing toward him in her bed, curled on her side with her arms wrapped around a pillow. She was still wearing his dark gray cardigan and leggings, and the way the blankets puddled around the curve of her hip intrigued him. Her breathing was steady, and she looked so peaceful, and stunningly beautiful. Anthony hung his head in resignation and shut the door again without a sound. _You're done for,_ he warned himself as he made his way to the kitchen.

Anthony was surprised to see Mary not long after. She padded into the kitchen, her hair eerily perfect for so early in the morning.

"You're an early riser," she offered with a thin, cool smile.

"You as well, I see. I've made tea, but I can start the coffee if you'd like," Anthony said, setting aside the crossword he'd been doing.

"Coffee would be heaven, please," Mary sighed, taking the stool furthest from Anthony's and folding her long, thin arms on the counter.

"Do you always get up so early?" Anthony asked conversationally, moving about his kitchen.

"Yes, force of habit I'm afraid. I usually wake up and go for a run, but I'm not sure I would fare well running in ankle-deep snow. Anyway, Papa emailed some things to me last night, so I thought I might as well get a start on work."

"Pretty demanding employer, eh?" Anthony asked. He glanced up to offer a friendly smile. In a fleeting thought, Anthony wondered if he might be related to Mary one day, in the near future, and if maybe he should start building bridges now, for Edith's sake.

But in return for his smile, Anthony received little more than a narrowed gaze. Mary folded her hands under her chin and arched her back pertly. "Don't you think it's a little strange?"

"What's that?"

"You and Edith, playing house."

Anthony froze, completely caught off guard by Mary's question.

"I mean, if you and Edith are together, which by every account you appear to be, don't you think it's just a little bit of an odd pairing? And if you aren't together, what's the point of having us all out here, having her over all the time, doing the domestic thing?"

Anthony couldn't form a thought, let alone a sentence. He opened his mouth to say something sensible and concluding, but Mary interrupted, holding up her hands.

"Not that it's any of my business of course. I just wonder if you've really thought it through. I mean Edith, lord knows, has never done the normal thing and she's forever trying to get attention in the strangest ways. I just wonder if this odd little friendship you two have is her way of sticking it to Mama and Papa like going to Dublin was."

Anthony numbly set the fresh pot of coffee before Mary, working out a way to reply without sounding so angry—he'd hate to cause problems for Edith. To suggest that Edith came to Dublin as some kind of petulant rebellion just proved how little Mary knew of her. But to imply that Edith was strange or unnatural for being so wonderfully bright and inimitable caused something akin to ire to stir in Anthony. He set a mug out for the cold woman, who was watching him as if she'd been discussing the weather.

"You do know she's a virgin, don't you? I'm sorry to be blunt, it's just that Edith is so inexperienced, and she's never had anyone interested. It's no wonder she's had her head turned by the first male attention she finds. But shouldn't you be the more reasonable of the two? I mean, really, I don't think bedding my little sister is what Papa had in mind when you asked you to look out for her," Mary said with a dry laugh, blowing on her coffee.

And then Anthony's shock was not at Mary's words, but at their truth. No, Robert did not call on Anthony with the intent of "setting him up" with Edith. And she was young, impossibly young it seemed suddenly. Edith had said herself her family pays her no mind. Could he really be a convenient way to get a rise out of her parents?_ No,_ he told himself, _she deserves more credit than that._

"She deserves more credit than that," Anthony said quietly, repeating the one thought he knew to be definitively right. "Whatever you think of me, and whatever misconceptions you have about mine and Edith's friendship, she deserves far better than you've just done by her."

Mary arched a challenging eyebrow and was clearly gearing up an argument when Matthew came in, all smiles and politeness. "Good morning all. Happy Christmas," he greeted, walking over to kiss Mary on the cheek. "Are we the only ones up?"

"So far," she replied, as if nothing at all had happened.

"Well I'm afraid we may have to head out sooner than we'd planned. Robert just sent me some specs on the new outbuilding-turned-winery he wants to remodel and apparently the contractor is meeting with him tomorrow. With the snow and all I don't want to risk getting stuck overnight."

"No, getting stuck here would be next to unbearable," Mary sniffed, slipping off her stool and tossing her hair. Matthew offered an apologetic grimace to Anthony that his wife didn't notice. "I'm going to go shower and get ready. We'll let the others sleep in and we can head out after lunch, no?"

When she was gone, Matthew took her seat. "I know how she can seem, especially off the bat. She's a bit standoffish, but she always comes around."

"I don't doubt it," Anthony said with a polite grin. Edith would have recognized it, seen through it right away, and would have urged him to tell her what's wrong. _Edith_. "Say, would you have the room to take Edith back with you?" Anthony heard himself ask.

Matthew frowned, taking a muffin from the nearby platter and peeling back the paper. "Well, yeah, we could make room for sure. I thought you two were making a real weekend of it, coming back tomorrow or the next day, though?"

Anthony cringed, wondering if everyone had assumed he was some lecherous old man who'd bedded the daughter of a friend, half his age. Suddenly their kiss, which had seemed so natural an hour ago, felt like a very bad idea.

"I don't know what Edith had planned, but I have some work to get done, and I'd hate her to feel obligated to stay," Anthony said lamely, knowing full well that Edith would be glad to sit in the library with him or make the trip back home just the two of them.

"Alright, yeah. Absolutely," Matthew agreed, though he still seemed a bit confused.

Anthony was hiding in his library a few hours later when Edith came in, freshly showered and in her own clothes. "Matthew said I'm riding back to Dublin with them today," she stated, her voice small. She approached the chair Anthony occupied. Her peach cardigan and cream shirt seemed to light up her whole visage, and Anthony was a bit dumbstruck by her beauty.

"Well, yes. I thought it might be best," he finally managed. "I have some things to take care of here."

Edith smiled shyly and took a step closer so that she was nestled just barely between Anthony's knees. "I have some things I wanted to take care of here as well," she said, blushing profusely. Standing in front of him as Edith was, Anthony longed to pull her down to him, hold her against his chest, to pick up where they had left off the night before.

Instead he settled for taking her hand in his. They were both quiet for a moment, adjusting to the newness of deliberate touch.

"Please don't send me away, Dr. Strallan," Edith whispered, staring him directly in the eye while her fingers entwined with his.

Could this creature really love him, Anthony wondered. Could she, so young and inexperienced even know what love was? Or was he, the lonely codger, preventing her from living the life she was meant.

Anthony couldn't sort it, couldn't think through it all. Especially when Edith, unable to wait any longer, took the liberty of sitting on the arm of his chair. She was bold, allowing the backs of her legs to rest against his inner thigh as she wrapped her free hand around his neck.

"I know you, Anthony. There's some trouble brewing in the brilliant mind of yours, and you aren't letting me in on it." Her voice was soft, lulling. Her touch was light, and terrifying, and Anthony closed his eyes to take in the feel of her nearly sitting in his lap. It had been years since he'd been so physically close to another human being, let alone one as charming and kind and beautiful as Edith Crawley. Looking up to finally meet her large brown eyes, so trusting and entreating, Anthony felt a small part of him break just a little as he made his decision.

"The thing of it is, Edith," he began, willing himself to sound as aloof and not in love as he could manage.

"Edith, darling, Matthew says we're leaving in twenty," Sybil called, popping her head into the library. "Oh! Sorry, I, um, twenty minutes," she said quickly before hurrying off.

Edith sighed. "Hold that thought, Anthony. Whatever you were going to say, just hold onto it for a day or two, and when you get back to Dublin, if you still want to say it you can. I'll be all ears. Until then," Edith pleaded.

Anthony looked up, waiting for the end of her sentence. But it wasn't words she wanted to part by. Instead Edith, his darling Edith, leant down and kissed him quite soundly on the lips. He responded against his own will and better judgment, relishing the feel of her mouth, the peppermint of her toothpaste, her fingers in his hair. His hands wanted desperately to reach under her blouse to the bare skin at the small of her back, but he resisted.

Edith, bless her, ended the kiss. "A day or two, and please no more," she begged as she made her way to the door, her lips red from the kiss and her cheeks even darker. She smiled and bit her lip, nodding once before leaving the little room.

The Crawleys left not long after that. Anthony waved to them from the drive, Edith making pointed eye contact from her window as Matthew backed out. Stepping back into his house, he barely recognized it. Not because of the Christmas decorations still up, or the small bit of rearranging Edith had done, but because every inch of it seemed empty now without her. The fire was less robust, the kitchen a bit more sterile, and the sofa entirely lacking in comfort.

Something in Anthony told him that no matter what he did for the rest of his life, he would feel this aching, as though a piece of him were missing and the separation was causing pain. He may as well have lost use of a limb, without his Edith there.

"Damn," he growled, wishing he had a choice. But it was a decision already made—he was in love for the first and last time in his life, and he was in love with Edith Crawley.

In the library, Anthony pulled his mobile from his pocket and sank heavily back into his favorite chair, though it was now irreparably colored with the memory of Edith's parting kiss.

"Gertie?" he greeted, so grateful she answered. "Yes, Happy Christmas. You were right, you know… About Edith. About everything… I didn't say I was surprised, I said you were right."

* * *

A/N: I keep wanting to like Mary, to trust her and see the good in her. But in canon DA this past season, I think the way she's treated Edith is consistently and unforgivably awful. As such, I just couldn't overlook her faults, even in this modern AU.

So Edith and Anthony are in for a bit of a bumpy road, I think, but they'll no doubt get it sorted.

Thank you, thank you, as ever, for your reviews. Your kindness really makes this whole thing one hundred percent better. And thank you for continuing to read!

Always,  
Eleanor.


	13. How Far the Stars

It had been three days since Christmas and Edith hadn't heard a word from Anthony. Since the first time they met in September she'd hardly gone three hours without seeing him, let alone talking to him. At the very least they would leave notes to each other in the office, or send each other texts if they were really desperate.

Three days since Edith had kissed him goodbye, three days of giddy anticipation, certain he would call, and three days of being disappointed when he didn't.

Even now as she walked across the lawn on campus, deserted for the break, her chest ached a little. She'd stopped by the office, telling herself all the while not to get her hopes up. But it didn't stop the crushing sadness she felt when she had opened the door and found it cold and dark, and utterly empty.

"Edith, please stop!" Gregson hollered, his heavy footfall catching up behind her.

Edith let out an accidental "ugh" before turning around to feign a polite smile. "Sorry, Mr. Gregson, I was just running to meet my sister. Already a bit late, I'm afraid," she lied.

The wiry little man was out of breath, though he was clearly trying not to look winded. She realized he must have been chasing after her for quite a while. "Oh, well, no worries. I just wanted to make sure you're alright. You seem a little distracted. Everything is good, yes?"

"Of course, thank you. But I really must run."

"Haven't seen Dr. Strallan around have you?" Gregson asked knowingly, his black eyes gauging Edith's reaction.

"I'm not in the habit of keeping tabs on the faculty, but no, I haven't seen him since before the holiday." Whether it was that Anthony was a professor and she a student, or that Gregson was the one asking the questions, Edith felt compelled to bend the truth.

"Ah, well, I just had a few questions for him, about his sabbatical."

"His what?" Edith asked, unable to mask her shock.

Gregson looked pleased with himself. "Strallan's contacted the head of the department. He's taking the next quarter to research some article he's working on about the paradigm shifts in Irish literature over the course of the Troubles or something, I don't know. But he's made it official."

"I didn't know," Edith said calmly, though inwardly she began to panic.

"Yes, well, anyway," Gregson hedged. "I was wondering if you might like to get together for dinner, perhaps a nightcap at mine, we could talk about your work. Of which I've seen about two pages, by the way."

Edith laughed indignantly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gregson, are you asking me to dinner for work or social purposes?"

"Perhaps it could be both?" he suggested with a smile. For a brief moment, Edith could almost see how other women might find a certain appeal in his shameless flirting and utter confidence. He had the boyish quality of the young men Edith's age, over-eager and arrogant, sure of their own charms and always out to have fun. Everything that Anthony was not.

"No, I wouldn't like to have dinner or a nightcap with you, Mr. Gregson. Thank you. And I will email you some more of my work when I've had a chance to give it another go-through. Good day," and she hurried off before he could push her further.

Edith spent most of the remaining afternoon trying to focus on the novel in her left hand and not the mobile in her right. No one had called; most notably there were no calls from Anthony.

When the sun had gone and she was forced to turn on her lamp, Edith finally made the decision to swallow her pride.

"Did you fix your phone?" Anna asked by way of greeting.

"What? My phone wasn't broken."

"Oh, well I just assumed since you stopped answering it five or six weeks ago that something was wrong."

"Anna, I'm sorry. I feel far away here, you know? It's easy to lose track. And between the workshops and lit reviews, and my writing," Edith explained.

"And all that time with Dr. Strallan," Anna interrupted. The mention of their many outings sent a little pang of longing through Edith. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

"Yes, and that. It's like I blinked and it's already the New Year."

Anna sighed. "I know what you mean. I do. I just… miss you, Edie."

"I miss you too," Edith said quietly. Neither spoke for a while until Edith complained, half joking, "And I hate that you're spending so much time with Mary now."

"I'm not spending that much time with her. But she is my age, and she and Matthew work with John, and John's mates with your dad. We're all together a lot, and that has nothing to do with me and your sister. Anyway, she's not as awful to everyone else as is she is to you so it's really not that bad."

Edith laughed sadly. "Well as long as you recognize that I'm the kinder and more enjoyable Crawley."

"Please," Anna scoffed, "Isis the dog is the 'kinder' Crawley. The rest of you are like a bunch of vicious society vipers." When their laughter died down Anna took a heavy breath. "Edie, I've got some good news."

"The baby?"

"You know?"

"Mary told me."

"I wish she hadn't."

"Me too," Edith said. "But I am so, so thrilled for you. And for me. You and John are both only children so I get to be Auntie, don't I?"

"Of course, right behind Mary." Edith froze until she heard Anna's mousy giggle through the line.

"You're awful," Edith scolded. "I don't know how John puts up with you."

"John, Edith wonders how you can put up with me," Anna called. Apparently John was very nearby, which did not surprise Edith in the least. She used to feel for Anna, never having a moment to herself. Now all Edith wanted was a lifetime of never having a moment away from Anthony.

Edith heard a deep grumble through the line and knew Bates had replied. "John says he thought you were chummy on that 'Dr. Stramburg or someone,' the silly beggar." After a moment Anna asked, "How _are_ things with the professor?"

"Oh god, Anna," Edith sighed, lying back on her couch. "I love him."

"Well, those are three words I never thought I'd hear you say," Anna replied casually.

"I'm just as surprised as you are, believe me." And then Edith was grinning at the ceiling like a fool.

"Wait, are you being serious?" Anna asked.

"Unfortunately, I am."

"Edie! This is why you need to call me more than once a month," Anna scolded. "What happened? Tell me everything."

Edith thought for a moment, trying to form a concise version of the great list forming in her mind—a thousand moments of understanding, a thousand smiles and awkward mumblings, their entire short but dense history together. "He sees me, Anna. And he likes what he sees."

"Good lord," Anna whispered, genuinely floored. "You found him."

"Yes," Edith said.

Just as Anna began pushing for specific details, there was a knock at Edith's door. She jumped up with an enthusiasm that would have embarrassed her if Anthony hadn't been the sole occupant of her thoughts in that moment.

"Anna, he's here. I'll call you soon."

"Ugh, no you won't. I love you."

"Love you," Edith said, ending the call and tossing her mobile onto the couch. In her mad rush for the door she nearly slid into the post and had to regain her balance before opening.

"I thought I would never see you again," she was laughing as she swung the door wide.

"Oh?" Gregson asked with a cocky grin.

"I'm sorry," Edith stammered, flustered and wracked with disappointment. "I thought you were someone else."

"Figured," he laughed, looking conspicuously over Edith's shoulder. "Might I come in for a moment?"

"What are you doing at my flat?" Edith asked, unwilling to feign niceties at this point. She didn't move to let him in.

Gregson pressed his lips together and nodded in defeat, looking rarely humble for a moment. When he spoke his voice was less superficial. "I went by Dr. Strallan's office to leave some things for him, and this was taped to the door. I took the risk of delivering it personally."

Gregson handed Edith a white envelope, addressed with only her name, in very familiar handwriting. As she took it her hands shook noticeably, and she folded her arms together to hide it. She could not do anything about the paling of her face, which she could feel as easily as she imagined Gregson saw it.

"Look, I get the feeling you're not very fond of me," he said quietly. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression, Edith. I just want you to understand that I'm here as your 'advisor' but also as your friend, and that I think you're great. That's all."

Edith barely heard him. She was staring at her bare feet and itching to get him out of her doorway so she might read Anthony's letter.

"I do appreciate it, Mr. Gregson. I'll have some work to show you after the new year, and then perhaps we can get that cup of coffee."

Gregson seemed to know it was all he would get from her at the moment. "Very good. Enjoy the rest of your holidays, Edith." He moved quickly, stepping in and kissing her cheek. Edith was so preoccupied with the letter she hardly had time to react before the gentleman was gone down the hall.

Her legs were worthless beneath her. Edith couldn't imagine what the letter said, and as she hurried to the nearest chair, her mind seemed to flash through all the possibilities at once.

Her hands were trembling as she pulled the single piece of paper from the envelope and unfolded it.

_Edith,_

_I have been so extraordinarily privileged to know you, and to be forever changed by your friendship. You are the most wonderfully talented, unusual, exceptional person I've ever had the honor of knowing._

_It is because of this, Sweet Girl, that I've gone away. It would have been so easy to take you for myself and never let you go, and I long to what's more. But I can't in good conscience keep you from the life you're meant to have, Edith. As you said, 'I know you,' and I know your heart, and I can't be the one to cage it. Please understand that you are far too young and lovely to be tied down to the likes of me._

_I've taken sabbatical, and will not be in your way at all during these last months of your program. The office is yours, and of course everything in it. I've taken just a few things from my desk. My flat and the sea house have been closed up, but I've left the keys to them on your desk should you have need for them. _

_My greatest concern is that you will be hurt, and my only consolation is that any small hurt you may suffer now will soon mend itself with time. You've so much life to live. Go on adventures, meet new people, write like mad because you've a gift, fall in love with someone young and bright and worthy. And please don't let anyone (i.e., your family) make you feel small ever again. _

_Live, Sweet Girl, and live well the brilliant life you were meant._

_Always,  
A._

One of Anthony's stationary cards slipped out from the envelope as Edith began to lose her composure. On it was a quote, also in Anthony's writing.

_"How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart" – William Butler Yeats_

And then Edith collapsed into the sobs she'd been fighting for three days.

Fumbling for her mobile, she tossed the sofa cushions carelessly aside as she searched for it. Edith forced herself to take deep breaths to calm herself as she pulled up Anthony's number.

It went directly to voicemail.

"Oh god, Anthony, you great idiot. I don't need you to leave to have the life I'm meant. Please don't take yourself away," she said, surprising herself by the steadiness and even the anger in her voice. "I'm not going to beg, but please just think about this. We're in the twenty-first century for god's sake. And I" she began, but stopped herself. She would not say it for the first time in a moment of desperation, and anger. "I won't call again, I won't bother you, but please don't do this."

When Edith hung up, she hardly knew what to do. Her pride told her to be good and angry and curse his blue eyes, to rip apart the navy sweater she had folded in her drawer that very moment. Her heart told her to go to his flat, and then the sea house, to track down Gertrude for help, and to search tirelessly until she found him, and to never let him go again.

Hurt, and exhausted, and decidedly torn in a thousand directions, Edith moved to the desk in her bedroom and pulled out her journals, four months worth of notes and observations and bits of dialogue and feelings. She stacked them on the left, and opened her laptop, and as the tears streamed helplessly down her face, Edith began to write.

* * *

A/N: As Edith said, it's the 21st century, and while her pride may stop her from seeking Anthony out, Edith will not exactly take this lying down either.

Bear with me, as I'm certain these two will come to understand one another shortly. :)

Thank you for continuing to read and review! I can't say how I appreciate it.


	14. Furtiva Lagrima

"Lord, don't you look awful," Gertrude greeted, hands on her hips in a stance Anthony recognized quite well indeed.

"Good, I feel it," he grumbled, scratching his unkempt beard and turning away from his sister. He was sitting at the desk in Gertrude's guest room, hunched over some books and articles for his research. He was wearing a wrinkled shirt and hadn't shaved in weeks, and the unlit room was far too small for anyone of his stature. None of that bothered Anthony in the slightest.

"Look, if I'm going to house you here like a runaway, you're not going to stay cooped up in this room for weeks on end listening to sad Italian opera and pretending like you're the great living martyr, alright?"

Anthony looked helplessly to the antiquated old record player.

"What is this anyway?" she asked before turning it off.

"Caruso's 1904 recording of 'Una Furtiva Lagrima,' and it's not sad, it's about a man finally getting the girl he wants through the use of a love potion."

"It is sad, and it's sadder that you're denying it."

"I'm working, Gertrude," Anthony argued weakly.

"You're working on getting a swift boot from me, Anthony. Now, I won't tell you what a fool I think you're being for the hundredth time, but I'm certainly not going to let you rot away up here by yourself." Gertie moved to the windows, throwing open the French shutters and flooding Anthony's dark room with yellow light.

"Gertie, really, I prefer to be alone," Anthony snapped. Gertrude took the book from his hand, and his notepad, and sat on his bed. Her features were soft, maternal, and sympathetic, and Anthony longed to hide in her arms like he did as a small boy when their father was being particularly cruel.

"Love, why don't you just go to her, tell her you were wrong, and that you're sorry?"

Anthony stretched his legs out, sinking low into the wooden chair, and let his head fall back. Closing his eyes he could almost feel Edith's warm hands on his skin, her firm back beneath his palms, her weight against his legs as she sat against him that morning. "I would like to go to her, and I'd like to tell her I'm sorry, but I wasn't wrong, and I won't tell her as much."

"You are wrong, to make decisions for her that aren't yours to make."

Anthony didn't respond, knowing Gertrude wouldn't have it. He liked being here, at Gertrude's farm where he'd spent so much of his youth. It made him feel young again, or younger, and that made anything seem possible. Perhaps if he pleaded with Edith, promised her longevity and freedom, but no, it was wrong.

"I got a letter today," Gertrude said. Her tone did not bode well, and Anthony looked up warily. "It was from Edith, and she's miserable, and heartbroken."

"Did she say that?" Anthony asked.

"No. She's too proud for that. She says that she's had a breakthrough in her writing, that it's pouring out of her, and that she's glad for the rain and the cold because it's giving her the time and ability to focus on her work."

"Oh, thank god," Anthony sighed, relief running through him like cold water, though he couldn't decide it outweighed the pain it caused him.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Anthony," Gertrude growled suddenly, standing up. "You think she means it? If you do you're far denser than I gave you credit for. You think she isn't just as miserable as you? You know what her letters were about before you went and hung yourself on the cross? You. They were all about you, and how lovely you were, and kind, and the funny things you say, and the things you two did together. That girl is in love with you in a way that isn't going to be 'cured' by your absence."

"Gertrude," Anthony managed, "I love you dearly. Please go away."

Gertie pulled her down vest in a huff. "Fine. Fine, Love, I'll go." As she passed, she dropped a letter in his lap. "This was in the post as well."

Anthony's heart admittedly quickened, thinking it might be from Edith. He hadn't heard from her aside from that initial voicemail, which he listened to about a dozen times a day. In his mind, he was glad for it. In his heart, he longed to see the curvy slant of her rather feminine cursive handwriting.

It was not from Edith, but from the College, forwarded from Anthony's postbox in Dublin.

_Dear Dr. Strallan,_

_I take this opportunity to remind you of the annual 'Writers at Work' festival taking place next month. Enclosed you will find the invitation to the soirée hosted by our department after the closing ceremony. I should think it a perfect chance to speak with you about the progress on your article, as no one seems to have heard from you in quite some time. No need to RSVP, as I have already put you at my table._

It was signed by the head of the department, Dr. Allistair Murphy, and Anthony could picture the man's face enflaming as he scribbled out the note. Dr. Murphy was a good man, but liked to keep tabs on all goings-on in his department. The annual soiree was less of a literary meet and greet, and more of a drunken debacle, and Anthony nearly always managed to avoid it.

Checking the date on the letter, Anthony cursed under his breath. It had taken over two weeks for the envelope to get forwarded from Dublin to the post in the village and then delivered to the farm. The festival was the following weekend, which gave Anthony little time to prepare for his return. It was inevitable, of course, that he'd have to go back to the school and the city. It was his life, after all. But he had hoped it could wait until Edith Crawley had earned her Master's and gone on her way.

"Oh god, don't let her be there," he groaned, reaching for the luggage he'd stored under the bed.

"Well I'm sorry I doubted you, Anthony," Murphy sighed, throwing back the last swig of whiskey in his tumbler. "It's just not like you to be so unavailable, you know."

"I understand completely, Sir," Anthony smiled. "I'm sorry to have worried you, going off the grid like that."

"Oh, we all need a break once in a while," Murphy chuckled. The way it moved his thick, white mustache reminded Anthony of a walrus, and he had the instinctual urge to tell Edith. Even after two months he couldn't separate himself from her.

"You look troubled," Murphy said with his gravelly voice, "Have a drink. Have five, it's a party!" And then he moved his great round body from the chair, completely without grace, and bumbled over to another table to tell his oft-repeated Brendan Behan joke.

Anthony looked around the ballroom, decorated for any generic banquet, with large floral centerpieces and tables filled with boozing literary types. In his youth, Anthony found it all very exciting. Now the glamour had faded and he saw a lot of slurring, red-faced people who were going to wake with at least one regret. Dinner had been served, the keynote speaker from some American university had talked about the importance of recognizing the shift into what he'd called 'second orality' from high literacy, which Anthony was only vaguely interested in. Everyone was laughing, bad jazz was being piped in. It seemed the perfect time to sneak away.

"Anthony, old chap! We thought you might've been abducted," came an all too familiar voice. Anthony begrudgingly turned, not at all surprised to see Michael Gregson's collar undone, his tie loosened, his vest crumpled, and a highball in his hand.

"No, Mr. Gregson, just doing research," Anthony greeted. He shook Gregson's hand, and admittedly applied a bit more force than was necessary.

"Well, I hope it's been going well," Gregson said with a big smile. Anthony saw a glint in his eye that he'd come to recognize over their years as colleagues. It betrayed Gregson's outward charm and hinted at a rather unlikable mischief.

"Why do you care about my article?" Anthony asked plainly. Just as Gregson shrugged and opened his mouth to speak, they were interrupted by a flushed and fairly wobbly Edith.

"Mr. Gregson, you really must stop bringing me these drinks. I think they've gone to my head," Edith was saying. She wore a navy dress, cut just low enough to be incredibly womanly without being immodest, and a long string of pearls. When she and Anthony made eye contact, she visibly paled, and her martini glass shattered on the floor, splashing something pink and sticky all over her feet.

"Oh, just the first of many drinks to hit the floor, I'll fetch a towel," Gregson slurred, hurrying off toward the bar.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Edith hissed, and Anthony died a little inside.

"Oh God, Edith, I'm sorry. I promised you wouldn't have to see me and I've gone and broken that promise. I was just leaving. And I only came because Murphy was going to fire me if I didn't."

"No," Edith interrupted, "What are you doing here? Have you been in town long? And where were you? You just left, you were gone. And I was alone, and you weren't here."

She was slightly incoherent, and Anthony watched as she turned a slight shade of green.

"Let's get you some fresh air, huh?" he suggested. When Edith stumbled, Anthony instinctively grabbed her elbow, but Edith pulled away from him violently.

"Don't patronize me," she spat, though she still let him lead her out a side door to the street. Anthony laid his jacket on the curb so she might sit without getting wet as Edith buckled and fell inelegantly to the concrete.

"How many have you had, Sweet Girl?" Anthony asked gently, leaning so he might examine her face.

"You don't get to call me that anymore, you big jerk," she snapped, sounding a little like a teenager. But when she looked up at him, Edith's great brown eyes were filled with as much fire and truth as Anthony remembered, and he had to take her seriously. "You left. You took away our friendship without even asking me, Anthony. Have you any idea how much that hurt? And what right had you, anyway? We were both in it, I had just as much say as you."

"You can do better than me, Edith," Anthony said softly.

"Oh, go to hell," she moaned, waving her arms loosely. "Don't act like you know what's best all the time. You're brilliant, Anthony, and I'd be a liar if I said I didn't hang on your every opinion, but you're not right all the time, and you're outright bloody wrong about me."

"Edith, there you are," Gregson said, bursting through the door. He had a damp cloth, which Anthony snatched from his hands. Edith took it from Anthony with equal violence and scowled at him.

"Don't help me," she muttered, wiping ineffectually at her feet and ankles. Gregson raised his eyebrows from behind Edith and smiled triumphantly at Anthony.

"Want to come back in, Edith? It looks like the dancing's started," Gregson offered. He was talking to Edith, but his beady little eyes held Anthony's defiantly, and never had Anthony hated him more.

"I want to go home," Edith groaned, slumping over onto Anthony's jacket. As both men moved to help her, Edith rubbed her face against the fabric of Anthony's coat and groaned. "Oh god, I missed this smell," she whispered.

Anthony felt another piece of him die with guilt and longing.

"I'll get her home, old chap," Gregson said, reaching for Edith's arms. Anthony put a mighty hand on Gregson's shoulder, forcing him back several steps.

"I wouldn't trust you to get her to the lobby, Gregson, let alone to a safe bed for the night. You're not touching her."

Gregson slapped Anthony's hand away. "She's a grown woman," he scoffed, "Who are you, her father?"

"I'm Genghis bloody Khan as far as your interest in Miss Crawley is concerned, alright? Don't touch her," Anthony warned. Gregson was clearly surprised by Anthony's vigor.

"Look, I'm not going to get into some sort of fight with you, Strallan. You aren't her keeper."

"Miss Crawley can do as she pleases, when she pleases, but she will not be going home with you. Ever." Anthony felt his anger rising as he stepped onto the curb by Edith, blocking her from Gregson with his full height.

Gregson shook his head and released a condescending laugh. "I'm not your problem old chap, you are. You know you don't deserve her, but you won't let her go. You're too _noble_ to take what you want, but you don't want anyone else to take it either. It seems to me you've got to make up your mind. Edith will do as all people must, and the only thing you can control is whether she does it with you or someone else."

"Anthony," Edith groaned, pushing off the ground only to slump the other way into Anthony's legs. She laid her head against him, holding onto his calf with both her hands. Her eyes were still closed, and Anthony no longer cared to spar with the worthless Gregson. His only concern was getting his Edith home before she got sick all over herself. Anthony reached down to pick up Edith's little satin clutch and slipped it into his pocket.

"Look, Edith has more potential and about the brightest future of any student I've ever had. And I'm not just saying that. It's not a line, because I'm saying it to you and not her. If you really want to help her, you'll stop clinging to her like some semi-retired geriatric who needs a nurse and let her do something with herself."

Anthony Strallan had never been one to swear a great deal. Not because he was morally opposed to it, but because he found it lazy. It was easier to call someone a foul name than to explain maturely and articulately why you were upset. However, as he leant down to scoop Edith into his arms, taking the coat up with them so she'd be properly covered, Anthony had neither the time nor the inclination to waste such thought on the weasel before him.

"Gregson," Anthony said calmly, readjusting Edith in his arms as easily as if he were carrying a stack of towels, "go fuck yourself." And with that, Anthony stalked off, leaving a rather stunned Gregson alone in the dark, damp night.

There had been a line of taxis waiting in front of the building, ready to take advantage of the drunken debauchery inside. As he directed the driver to her little flat, Anthony fished through her clutch for her keys. As he pulled them out a piece of cardstock came with them. It was somewhat beaten, worn on the edges, creased in one corner. But he recognized the writing, and the words.

_"How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart" – William Butler Yeats_

That Edith carried this around with her caused tears to well in his eyes, and Anthony was not the type to cry easily.

"Ooooh," Edith groaned, laying her head in Anthony's lap. "Oh, I should have known better than to drink something pink with a lemon peel in it," she mumbled, breathing slowly.

"You'll be alright," Anthony soothed, brushing her hair from her clammy forehead.

"Don't be nice to me. I'm angry with you."

"I understand."

"You left me. You just left me," she muttered. She was silent the rest of the drive.

Anthony laid Edith on her bed, taking great care not to jostle her too much. He pulled her black pumps off, and was glad to see she wasn't wearing stockings, as he didn't know what protocol and propriety allowed. Just as he was sneaking out Edith's arm reached limply for him.

"Don't go, please don't leave me," she begged. Her eyes were still closed, her face pulled into a grimace.

"You won't want me here in the morning, Sweet Girl," he whispered, though he took her hand anyway and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'll want you here always," Edith mumbled. And if she hadn't slurred the words, Anthony might have willingly believed her.

"I'll be on the couch," Anthony conceded, realizing it wasn't wise to leave her alone in her state.

"Not here?" she whined.

"On the couch," Anthony repeated. "Safer, and more comfortable for you. Now get some sleep."

"Thank you, Anthony. I love you," she said before rolling over and passing out.

That night Anthony lay on Edith's small sofa, staring up at the ceiling and playing the months out in his head. The first time she came into his office, all blushing and apologies, the first time he knew he loved her, and the first time he thought she might love him back, and tonight when she actually said it.

He gave it little credit, of course, given the amount of vodka coursing through her system, but there, in the stillness of her apartment, surrounded by her things, listening periodically for movement so he knew she was alright, Anthony allowed himself to wallow in those words over and over.

_Thank you, Anthony. I love you._


	15. Anthony's Return

It had been many, many years since Anthony stepped foot in this corner of the world. The familiar sheep-dotted fields and stone cottages from his youth had not changed. The last time he'd traveled the windy, sunny roads he had been leaving indefinitely for another life, after Maud's funeral. They were the same roads now, the same brooks running alongside, the same gated drives and large homes that had survived the transition into the twenty-first century.

The difference, of course, was that they were no longer haunted by memories of Maud, or Anthony's turbulent childhood. The only thing Anthony saw in the sprawling greenery and the ancient oaks and the stone houses was Edith. _Edith_. He had to get to her.

They had fought that morning, months ago now, when Edith woke to find Anthony returned and in her flat, though not about what he would have expected. Edith was angry, of course.

"Why did you help me last night?" she had asked, her tone accusatory.

"Because I care about you and was worried. And because I didn't want you to go home with Gregson."

"That's not a decision you get to make," Edith snapped. "You gave up your right to an opinion in _that_ matter when you left." Looking at him directly, Edith's face had been alit with ire and hurt. "You can't just show up and sweep in and carry me away like that, whoever I'm with."

Anthony was speechless for a moment, as horrified as he was embarrassed. He thought he'd been rescuing her, when perhaps being another of Michael Gregson's conquests was exactly what she wanted. "Are you saying you wanted to go home with Gregson?" he managed, his voice hoarse.

Edith had looked at him then with a mix of patience and annoyance. "I'm saying, Anthony, that you no longer have a say in that decision. I mean," and then her composure began to slip away. Tears in her eyes, voice small, she said, "You left, Anthony. You left me without so much as a warning, and without talking it through with me. We talk about everything, _everything_. Or we did until you up and disappeared."

Anthony still felt the acute sting of guilt even now, as he wound closer and closer to the Crawley's property.

The main house, known as Downton Abbey, had long-since been rendered impractical for any type of home and was instead preserved as an historical sight, used for business and on occasion great parties. Edith had grown up adjacent by a quarter mile to the Abbey, in the much smaller (though still grand) Crawley House. Anthony knew it well, but that didn't hinder his delight in listening to Edith's description of it all, back before he'd destroyed everything between them.

Absently, Anthony ran a hand over the bundle of papers on the passenger seat beside him. They were a bit worse for wear now, corners bent, edges frayed from being read through so many times. That bundle was more precious to Anthony than almost anything else in the world. It was the first draft of Edith Crawley's masterpiece.

She'd given it to him that same morning they had fought. "My age works against, me, I know, and my lack of experience. But you of all people, Anthony, should understand that I know myself and what I want," she had said. When Anthony reiterated that she was far too young and lovely to waste herself on someone like him, Edith had disappeared into her room. She returned with a package in brown paper. "I was going to send this to Gertie to pass along," she'd explained. "Read it, please. You said yourself, for a writer I'm not very articulate. Perhaps this will illuminate the subject."

Edith had told him then that she would be returning to Downton, to Crawley house, to finish her edits and complete her program by correspondence. "I need time, Anthony. I think we both do," his Edith had said before urging him out the door.

That was nearly two months ago. Now, as April set the landscape to life with its blooms and lambs and blue skies, Anthony could hardly believe he'd let it drag on so long. He and Edith had parted on such an ambiguous note that he had no idea how much time she needed, or whether he should call or wait. Forever torn between keeping her from moving on and perpetuating her pain, Anthony had wallowed in a miserable limbo for weeks. His only comfort was that manuscript.

It was a collection of short stories, like her previous draft had been. But these stories, each and every one, were about Edith and Anthony. Not directly of course, but they were laden with intimate details only the two of them would understand or recognize. A thousand shared moments, clips of dialogue, images of their adventures together—the sun through the car window on the way to Carlingford, the dark pub in Wexford where they had gotten drunk on the owner's home brew, the smell of old paper and leather books from Anthony's library, the lavender field they strolled through in Wicklow—it was all there. And god was it beautiful.

Anthony's favorite story was called "September Song" which was a reference, he knew, to the Walter Houston song. Edith had played it for Anthony about a thousand times on their many drives together. Edith had explained to Anthony in no unclear terms why she found it so haunting and poetic. Her story took place on a pier in Cobh, where two foreigners meet by chance. They communicate with the most awkwardly indirect language, sharing a strangely intimate conversation, and only in the end does the reader discover they were ghosts who are only seen by each other.

Anthony laughed at himself, trying to recall the number of times he had read it. It had to be in the hundreds. It was his way of holding her, of talking to her and being with her, while he waited for the real Edith to forgive him.

And then Anna Bates had called and ended the waiting with one swift blow.

Anthony's heart dropped into his stomach as he remembered his purpose. Pressing on the gas, he ground the gears, forgetting how temperamental his old Jag was. "Come on old, girl," he muttered, urging her to pick up speed. It felt strange driving it again, having left it with the majority of his belongings at Locksley. His parent's home, which now belonged to him, was kept mostly under dust sheets. He had a man to watch the grounds, but otherwise it remained locked up and quiet like the rest of his past. Anthony never believed he would open it again, but he would have done anything for Edith.

Anthony maneuvered around the last big curve, and Crawley House sprang into view. He had been here before, when Robert's mother lived in it and they were home on break from Uni. He hadn't thought much of it then, but now it admittedly intimidated the hell out of him.

Anna Bates' words echoed in Anthony's mind. _Edith needs you, Dr. Strallan. I wouldn't have called if thought she could get through this on her own._

Anthony was shocked when Mary answered the front door. She looked more severe than ever, clad in a tight, black shift dress, her hair pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck. But her face was undeniably sad, and Anthony felt for her despite her coldness. Mary looked surprised for half a second before she composed herself.

They observed each other for a long time, Anthony watching her blankly as she seemed to be making a decision. "Edith's in the garden," she finally said, turning abruptly and leaving the door open for Anthony to follow.

The house was dark, quiet. The furnishings had changed slightly, but the majority of it all looked the same as far as Anthony could remember. Mary led him silently through a rather capacious foyer and down a back hallway. Anthony followed several feet behind, feeling a sort of reverence demanded by the silence and the sadness. Mary subtly shut a door on her left without breaking pace, and as he passed it Anthony heard the murmurs of voices behind. He was grateful to her then, for not giving him away before he had a chance to speak to Edith.

"Through there," Mary said, gesturing to some French doors at the end of the hall. Anthony tried to thank her but she was already sweeping past him in the other direction.

Stepping onto the garden patio, it didn't take long for Anthony to spot Edith. She was sitting on a cement bench, her back toward him, looking out over the yard. She wore a charcoal grey sweater dress and thick black tights, and she was holding an old stuffed bear. His heart leapt strangely within his chest, as thrilled to see her as it was broken for her sadness.

Edith turned at the sound of his footsteps in the gravel. She didn't seem at all surprised to see Anthony. She stood and walked directly to him, not hesitating for a moment before leaping into him. She hit Anthony's chest with a firm thud as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He held her easily, relishing the feel of her ribs beneath his hands and her cheek against his ear as he pulled her close. Her toes brushed against his shins.

"I've missed you," she said into his neck. "I've missed my best friend."

"I've missed you too, Sweet One," he replied, kissing the exposed skin between her neck and shoulder. "And I'm so very sorry about Sybil."

And then Edith, his darling, burst into uncontrollable sobs.

"It's alright, sweetheart, I'm here," he murmured soothingly, moving them to the bench. He sat, easily keeping Edith firmly in his lap, her arms still locked around him, her face buried in his chest while she continued to cry. "I'm here, my darling. Let it out."

A half-hour later, Edith and Anthony were sitting together in the shade of a great oak tree, hidden from view by its massive trunk. Edith picked at the grass absently as she spoke.

"Sybil had decided at the last minute she couldn't imagine having the baby anywhere else, so Tom said he could brave it and they came home. Mama was thrilled, of course, having all her daughters back under one roof."

She smiled sadly at the thought, and Anthony reached over to run a finger under her chin. Edith's large eyes flashed up to him briefly, and even in the sorrow of the moment he could see they were filled with love for him.

"Anyway, they were in Ripon buying things for the baby, and this truck just came out of nowhere. And Sybil, dear and obliging girl that she was, held on long enough for them to get the baby out."

"Where's Tom?"

"Up in the nursery, probably. He's hardly left that baby's side. The doctors said it was a miracle she survived at all, let alone totally unharmed. Papa's angry because Tom named her Sybil. Which of course is ridiculous, and Mama's barely spoken a word to anyone."

"I'm sorry I can't do more to make it better, Edith."

"You're doing plenty by being here," she said. They were a good two feet apart, both leaning on one hand, facing each other. Anthony watched Edith's eyes search the lawns beyond and then travel hesitantly back to him.

"What have you got in mind?" he asked gently, knowing full well there was something in the works. She even flushed a bit.

"Will you… hold me… for a little while, please? It's been so lonely without you. I know how that sounds, but pathetic or not it's the truth."

Anthony was fairly certain, as Edith chewed her lip nervously and looked away in shyness, that he had never loved her more. Slipping off his jacket, he laid it on the ground beside him and held out his arms to her. Edith took to him quickly, and as he laid them back on the cool earth, she settled against his chest and under his chin with a small sigh.

"Thank you," she muttered, slipping her arm between his gray sweater and the plaid shirt he wore. Her fingers circled his side for a while before settling. She slipped one foot along the inside of his leg, entwining them, and Anthony held her shoulders with both arms.

It was in this exact position, in the mild gray afternoon, that Mary found them an hour later, sleeping under the oak tree.

"Rather a strange place for a nap, don't you think?" she asked humorlessly, waking them. Edith sat up, but didn't move from Anthony's side.

Squinting into the light as she looked up at Mary she asked, without a hint of dissension, "Did you want something?"

"I'm sorry to impose, Edith, but I thought you might join Mama and the others for just five minutes. You're not the only one grieving you know." She stalked off again, and Edith visibly slumped.

"You're allowed to feel how you want and do what you want," Anthony reminded her gently, rubbing her back.

Edith frowned, looking into the empty distance. "I asked Mary last night if we might be friends now, now that we're all each other has. She said 'not likely, but we're sisters, we don't have to be friends.' And I think that's almost worse than losing Sybil sometimes."

"That's among the worst things I've ever heard in my life," Anthony said simply. He didn't want to upset Edith further, but inwardly he was raging.

"She's just sad, and scared, and she's never known how to deal with either of those things," Edith shrugged, amazing Anthony with her empathy.

"Had we better go in?" he asked.

"I guess we better had," she sighed, standing first and offering her hand to Anthony. "Mary won't have told them you're here so we can act like you've just arrived."

They stood brushing grass off of each other for a while before Edith giggled lightly.

"What is it?" Anthony asked, glad to see her face a bit brighter.

"We are an odd pair, aren't we? Thank god you're here." She lace her little arms around Anthony's middle and he relished in all this new closeness.

"I suppose we are," he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Odd or not, he thought as they made their way into the house, they were indeed a pair, and that was not going to change.

"Edith?" he said abruptly, stopping her short of the garden so they might have another moment of privacy.

She turned, holding his hand, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

"I'm so dreadfully sorry. About leaving, and making a mess of things, and hurting you. I know this isn't the time to talk about it, but—"

Edith stopped him short, putting a hand over his mouth. "You needn't apologize, and we needn't talk about it. I understand, Anthony. You're not perfect you know, and your sense of nobility can be staggeringly annoying, but I do understand." She kissed his cheek softly, soothing away any fears he might have had. "And anyway, I couldn't stay mad at you if I wanted."

Continuing back to the house Edith added wryly, "Especially when you gave Gregson such a good what-for."

Anthony laughed, relief surging through him. It felt right—taking care of Edith, the way her hand fit so perfectly inside his, the way they silently bolstered one another for what was sure to be an awkward and grief-stricken afternoon. On the way here, Anthony felt there was so much to be said, so many things to make amends for. Now, as they walked in silence, he knew it wasn't at all necessary, because all was simply implicit between them.

Taking advantage of their last minutes alone, Anthony pulled Edith's hand up to his lips and kissed it softly. She squeezed his in response, smiling wistfully at him, and didn't let go until they were inside.

* * *

A/N: Poor Tom, he seems destined to suffer in any century.

Thank you, lovely readers, for your reviews and for sticking with me. The next chapter, I promise, will be somewhat more rewarding. ;)


	16. Articulations

A/N: Here we are at last, dear readers. Not the end, but a very significant first. Solid M Rating for the following, though hopefully it is done in good taste.

* * *

Edith knew she should feel intrusive, and had Anthony not given her a key to his home she probably would be terrified. He had offered her the key under the same pretext as he'd offered her his office—as a place she was welcome should she need some peace. The reality was quite different, however, given their history and the fact that it was his home, where he slept and showered and lived his more intimate moments.

It had been a long and tedious day, and somewhat awkward. Edith and Anthony seemed to share an unspoken understanding that it was not the time to 'come out' as it were. They kept a safe distance apart the entire afternoon, and ignored the occasional pointed stares Mary gave.

Whether it was the grief, or that Anthony had been so kind to Edith and her sisters, no one seemed surprised to see him as he offered his condolences to the family.

"It's been a great many years," Robert had greeted, "It's good to see you old mate."

"Thank you for taking care of my girls, Anthony," Cora had said, "Sybil spoke very highly of you."

Edith had watched the transaction with a strange sort of wonder. To her, it felt as though she were bringing a man home to meet her parents for the first time, when really it was a reunion between old friends. Edith wondered how different her Anthony was from the young man who had married Maud all those years ago.

Many people had come and gone that day, and all the while Anthony stood quietly by for no other purpose than to be there for Edith. Only when Mr. Parker, the undertaker, came to discuss arrangements did Anthony take his leave.

Walking Anthony to the car, Edith had thanked him profusely. She'd longed to thank him properly, but knowing they were easily seen from the windows of the drawing room, she had settled for a kiss on the cheek as a goodbye. That's when he had pressed his house key into her palm and whispered into her ear, "I know you feel cooped up here. My home is open to you whenever you need to get away."

This, Edith realized as she climbed the darkened stairwell of Locksley Manor, was not likely what he had in mind. There was one dim lamp left on in the long hall, and it offered enough light to keep Edith from running into anything. Because Locksley was one of these old estate houses, she knew all the bedrooms would be on the second floor. Because it was Anthony, she also knew he would be in the most practical and not the grandest. She did not know, however, which of the many doors that would be.

The first three she opened were empty. The next two had furniture but it was covered in sheets. Finally, halfway down the hall, she found the room she'd been searching for.

Guiltless as she felt for creeping into Anthony's home in the middle of the night, she did feel a little bad when the light from the hallway flooded Anthony's dark room and he sat bolt upright, blinking. He had been sleeping, of course, and certainly had not been expecting someone to burst into his bedroom. Still, he seemed less than surprised to see her.

"Have you any idea how many rooms are in this house?" she finally asked, stepping in and closing the door behind her.

"Thirty four total, nine bedrooms on this floor," he said calmly.

"It's a good thing I knew you'd take one of the smallest rooms or I may have gotten lost," she said, stepping out of her black leather flats as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

"Indeed," he muttered. She could see his features then, lit by the moon in the window to the left. His hair was sticking up on one side, and she smiled.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't. Not really."

Edith's heart was fluttering in her chest, though she felt more relaxed now than she had since he left earlier that day. With a quick breath she pulled her dress over her head and dropped it on the floor beside her. Anthony flipped the covers back without a word and she climbed in, wearing only her thick tights and bra. Sidling up beside him, Anthony wrapped the heavy bedding around her, and then his long arms.

"I couldn't sleep in that house," Edith said, lacing her fingers through his and tucking both their hands under her chin. "Not now that Sybil's gone, and everything is so sad."

"I understand," he replied. His head rested on the same pillow as hers, his lips so close that they brushed her hair as he spoke. "You know you're welcome here as long as you wish."

"Thank you, Anthony," she whispered, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears running down her cheeks.

But Anthony Strallan noticed everything. The index finger of the hand she held reached up to wipe them away. "Sleep, Sweet Girl," he muttered, kissing the back of her ear so softly she almost wondered if it had happened at all.

And there, with his legs along hers, the weight of his chest pressed against her back, and his strong arm wrapped tightly around her, Edith fell into the most restful sleep she'd had in months.

When Edith woke the next morning, they were in largely the same position, except Anthony's hand had traveled to rest against her stomach so that she felt the warmth of his palm against her skin. Their legs had tangled sometime in the night, and underneath the pillow their right hands had found each other. Edith smiled. Despite the loss of her dear Sybil, she'd never felt happier.

"You've a freckle behind your left ear. Did you know?" Anthony asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

"I don't have any freckles," Edith replied with a giggle, glad that he had woken.

"Believe what you want," he muttered as Edith spun herself in his arms as deftly as possible. When they resettled Anthony's hand landed on her hip, hers against his broad chest. Edith had always been aware of how much taller Anthony was, but lying next to him, eye-level with his chest and feet barely reaching his ankles, the difference seemed exaggerated.

His eyes seemed so much bluer in the early morning glare, too. Edith sighed, relishing the closeness before he inevitably ended it, feeling her body hum all over. But then his thumb started moving in circles over her hipbone and he smiled affectionately at her.

"Did you sleep alright?" he whispered.

"Best I've slept in months, thank you." Turning her eyes to the gray tee-shirt he wore she added, "I can't sleep there anymore. It's not home. Well, it's not my home. Not now. Home is…" She struggled to get the words out.

"Dublin?"

"No, it's where ever you are," she answered quickly. Fearing his expression, Edith willed herself to look up at him.

No sooner had she met his eyes than Anthony's lips were on Edith's. The kiss was mild, sweet, reserved. When they parted, Edith's eyes were tearing again.

"I'm sorry, I know this isn't the time," Anthony whispered.

"No, it's not that. I think you might have been a sort of parting gift from Sybil. It's not my sister."

"Tell me?"

Edith's throat was thick and she took a deep breath to calm herself. "I love you, Anthony. I love you so much that sometimes I think I'll just break in two with it. When we're apart it's like my heart stops beating properly. It sounds so cliché, but I don't know how else to put it."

"Edith, my beautiful girl," he muttered with a sad laugh, "I love you madly. I don't understand how I can be so lucky, and I do question your sanity a bit, but I love you."

"Doesn't if feel almost silly to have to say it?" Edith asked with a laugh. "I mean I loved you within twenty minutes of meeting you. Why it's taken this long to just say the words is beyond me."

"We're both a little hopeless," he agreed, kissing her forehead affectionately.

"You can do better than that," Edith challenged, craning her neck to kiss Anthony properly. His hand traveled the length of her back, up to her hair as his lips moved with hers. He was not overly aggressive. He was tasting her, she knew, savoring the sweetness of this new certainty. As Edith gripped his shoulders, arching against the firm plain of his body, she was nearly lost in the feel of it all.

And then it was over. Anthony was leaning back, his hand back on Edith's hip, holding it firmly in place.

"What are you doing?" Edith asked, legitimately annoyed.

"I want to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you," she countered, leaning in to explore the line of his jaw.

Anthony laughed, rubbing her back as she trailed kisses from his ear to his chin. "You don't? We talk about everything."

"Some things are more easily shown than articulated," she said, smiling against his skin.

"I'm serious," he laughed again, turning to look at her.

"You're determined, and so am I," she said, pressing her lips to his again. When she ran her tongue along his upper lip, Anthony groaned and pulled Edith against him. His hand trailed down her backside and the back of her thigh, hitching her kneed up as Edith shifted on top of him slightly.

"Edith, Love," Anthony managed, "There's at least one thing we have to settle above anything else."

Edith sighed and rolled back onto her side. "Very well," she conceded, her face flushed as she tried to slow her breathing. Looking into his eyes and seeing the intensity in them, her smile faded slightly. "What is it, Anthony? What's wrong?"

"Nothing at all," he assured, pulling her hands up to his lips to give them a reassuring kiss. "I just want to be clear, and to make sure we understand one another."

Anthony cleared his throat, sitting up and pulling Edith after him. She felt awkward, wearing nothing but her under things, but Anthony didn't seem to bothered by it.

"Edith, darling," he began, still holding her hands as they sat shoulder to shoulder on the edge of the bed. "I didn't have this moment in mind, necessarily, when I pictured this, and I have pictured it, but you're rather driving me to distraction and we need to get this sorted before we…" his stuttering trailed off.

"Anthony," Edith laughed sympathetically. "I've never known you to be nervous."

"That's because you're so good at putting me at ease," he said. Edith used her free hand to brush some hair from his forehead, and leaned to kiss his shoulder, allowing him to take his time.

"Edith," he began again, his voice much firmer. Taking Edith quite by surprise, he stood suddenly, only to turn and kneel at her feet. "Will you be my wife?"

Edith smiled, slipping off the bed to her knees so she might look him in the eye. "You're terribly old fashioned," she teased, lacing her arms around his neck.

"So are you," he retorted with an anxious smile.

"Yes, yes I am," she whispered. Anthony's hands found her waist as their foreheads met.

"Will you have me?"

"In every sense of the word," Edith answered. She and Anthony stared at each other for a moment before bursting into giddy laughter.

"Oh god, I've never been so relieved in my life," he sighed, tightening his arms around her middle.

"Did you think I'd say no? I've been married to you since before I was born."

"Well then I suppose I'm just relieved to get to it," he chuckled. Edith kissed him soundly, but he pulled back again. "Can we make it soon?"

"We can make it today if you wish," she said quickly, "but can we finish this first?"

Anthony cocked his head, his expression a mix of surprise and admiration.

"I know I'm decidedly inexperienced, Anthony, and I am sorry for that," she began, looking away in shyness, but he cut her short.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"And you say it like it's a good thing."

"Oh it is, Edith," he said sincerely, pulling her chin gently so she might look at him.

"Well regardless, it seems I've been waiting almost twenty-five years for you to… show me. So, if you're _finally_ out of reasons for us to remain apart, I'm rather running out of patience."

Anthony lifted Edith by her ribs and stood, tossing her playfully on the bed as if she weighed nothing, evoking an involuntary little shriek. Placing her heels on his shoulder, he slid off her tights, leaving her briefs in place, and tossed them aside.

"I love you," he repeated, running his hands affectionately along her shins. Edith swung her feet aside and reached for him.

"After all these months of waiting, years really, I'll never tire of hearing that, or of you."

"I'll remind you of that in a year or two when you're forever pushing me away," Anthony said, climbing onto the bed so he might lay along side her.

"You'll be waiting a long time for that day, I'm afraid. Truthfully, darling, you're facing years of pent up… energy, all to be spent you."

"I'm sure I'll cope," he whispered as he leant in to kiss her.

Everything about him was so very masculine—the square of his jaw, his thin lips, his large, rough hands, the muscle beneath his gray tee shirt. A shiver of anticipation went through Edith. Not necessarily of what was to come in this morning, but out of eagerness for a lifetime of it—of looking at his face, of feeling his hands sliding up her hips, of feeling his lips along her collarbone. They had so much time, and yet there was an urgency radiating in Edith that she couldn't deny.

"Can we get this off of you?" Edith asked, tugging at his shirt.

"I suppose we can manage, yes," he said sarcastically, pulling the shirt over his head and settling back. "Edith," he said more seriously, "we'll go slowly. If you want to stop, or you are uncomfortable, just tell me and—"

"Anthony," she interrupted, the aching want causing her to sound more cross that she'd intended, "just for right now, can you please forget to worry about me?"

"I can try," he said sincerely, pulling at the strap of her bra to kiss her bare shoulder.

Edith was not a naïve woman, but she'd simply never been interested in such activities with the few boys she'd tried dating. Her few kisses had been disastrous at best, and part of her had wondered if she were broken somehow, that this part of her life simply was not meant to be.

Now, as Anthony finished undressing them both, as he took his time exploring her limbs and her breasts, as her hands traveled helplessly over his chest and shoulders, she almost laughed at the absurd magnitude to which she had been wrong. This part of her was alive and well, it had simply been waiting for Dr. Anthony Strallan and his blue, blue eyes. And, of course, other parts of him as well.

When Anthony's hand slipped down her stomach, and circled her hipbone, Edith's reaction was entirely involuntary. "Oh, Anthony, just," she implored, pulling his face to hers for more kisses, arching against his hand.

"There's time, my darling," he reminded her, laughing lightly at her frown.

"You're teasing me," she accused, kissing his jaw.

"Is it working?" he laughed. Edith pulled his earlobe between her teeth in response. As he groaned and tugged her body across his, she realized they could both play at that game.

"I want to make it as comfortable for you as possible," he explained, repositioning Edith on her back beside him, her left leg over his.

Toward the end of fall term in Dublin, Edith sat in on several of Anthony's courses, curious to see what kind of teacher he was. As she had suspected, he was most excellent, and clearly beloved by his students. Gentle, witty, and kind, he handled everything beautifully and smoothly, and with a unique confidence that came from absolute expertise rather than arrogance.

On this particular morning, in Anthony's bed, he was no different. He guided Edith through each step, through every move, with grace and certitude. But they were not discussing Keats or Wordsworth.

"Oh, ohhh," Edith managed, holding onto his square shoulders for lack of anything more steady, as he quietly and assuredly worked his fingers over her. She opened her eyes for a moment to find his face rather serene, his eyes on her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was almost annoyed at his composure, but couldn't bring the thought to any sort of fruition.

When she climaxed, her knees involuntarily snapped shut on his arm, and Anthony looked perfectly pleased with himself.

"Anthony," she said, out of breath and quite at a loss for words.

"You know, for a writer you're not very articulate," he goaded quietly. In that moment, humor and adoration so abundant in his features as he lay beside her, Edith was so in love with him that she thought she might burst with it. And with other needs as well.

"No," she agreed, wrapping a hand behind his neck as she pulled him to her for a long and gratefully kiss. "No, at this moment I dare say I'm not."

Anthony leaned up on one elbow she he might look at her properly. "My sweet one. You look so lovely just now."

"Anthony," she said again, hoping her tone made her intentions clear. Apparently it did, or he understood inherently what she wanted, what her body throbbed for.

Anthony kissed her sweetly and ran his hand along the length of her arm, lacing his fingers with hers before moving above her. She could feel him against her as he settled between her legs, and she whimpered a little against her will. She wanted him so badly it very nearly hurt.

"I hope you know that you are a miracle, Edith Crawley, and that I will spend the rest of my life making sure I've earned you."

"I love you," she said, some of her impatience ebbing as they watched each other.

"Do you trust me?" Anthony asked, bracing himself on one hand and brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear with the other.

"With everything I am," she answered.

Anthony slid his free hand down her side, over her thigh, and to the back of her knee, hitching it up to his hip. Finally, leaning down to kiss her softly, he moved inside her.

It was so much, just so overwhelming, that Edith nearly forgot to breathe. They were so close, in that moment, so together. Every sensation was alarming and new and wonderful—the feel of his hips against her thighs as her legs wrapped around him of their on volition, of his weight above her.

"Are you alright?" Anthony asked, amazing Edith with his restraint, though his voice was a bit pressed. "Shall I continue?"

"Mmm," she managed, arching her hips against him.

Anthony set their rhythm, slow and deliberate and somewhat cautious. If there was any discomfort it was muted by the onslaught of other feelings and needs Edith was experiencing. She gripped the small of Anthony's back as he worked steadily, and when she thought she simply couldn't take anymore her head rolled, pressing against his arm that braced beside her as she cried out.

When Anthony let out a small groan, she knew he was waiting for her.

"Together," was all she could say, rocking her hips with his, following his lead.

With one final push, they finished, both with a small fit of mutterings, Edith's decidedly louder and less controlled. Edith didn't let go of Anthony right away, and he didn't try to move. Instead they waited, breathless, watching each other.

And then, as typical of Edith and Anthony, the intense silence broke into a turn of dizzy, sated laughter.

When Anthony finally moved to lie on his back, Edith rolled against his side, ducking under his arm as he wrapped it around her shoulder.

"How are you?" Anthony asked, kissing her hairline.

"Well the weather's been a bit cool, but all in all," Edith teased.

"Thank you, my darling Edith, for this morning. I'm looking forward to having you in my bed every day. Though if this is all we had I think I could die a happy man."

"Not me," Edith said, leaning up to look at him. "I want a lifetime of this, and even then it might not be enough. I will never have enough of you," she said simply.

"I'll hold you to that, Love," Anthony muttered, kissing her sweetly.

"Do," Edith giggled, settling against his chest again and closing her eyes. "Please do."

* * *

A/N: Soon there will be the family to deal with, the logistics of a small wedding, and the significant loss the entire Crawley family has been dealt. But for now, we'll let Edith and Anthony have a bit of a rest, as I rather think they've earned it. :)

Thank you, thank you for such lovely reviews. I do hope I've handled this satisfactorily for all of you loyal and wonderful readers. Thank you!


	17. The Victor the Spoils

A/N: I'm so sorry for the technical problems! I've absolutely no idea why I couldn't get the chapters to be available, but thank you for your patience! Happy reading.

* * *

It was almost noon as Edith stood at the end of the bed, wrapped in a thick towel, hair dripping onto her shoulders. "Have you got a pair of sweatpants or something I can borrow?" she asked Anthony. He stepped out of his closet, buttoning a pair of gray trousers, and Edith was almost disappointed he'd gotten dressed so quickly after their shower.

"I don't think I've worn a pair of sweatpants in twenty-five years," he said with a frown, trying to think back. Sitting on a chair he began to put on his socks. "But of course, you're welcome to anything you can find. What's mine is yours."

Edith smiled. They had agreed it was time to get her home, but the way his drying hair began to curl and his shirt hung open, revealing the chest she'd only just become familiar with, Edith was decidedly less than eager to leave.

"I know what you're thinking," Anthony said suddenly without looking up. There was a certain mischief in his voice that Edith hadn't heard before this morning. "Go put some clothes on before we get ourselves into trouble."

"Yes, Dr. Strallan," Edith obeyed with a smile. His closet was not exactly full, given that he hadn't stepped foot in this house in over a decade, and most of his things were still in luggage on the floor. "Are you going to unpack, do you think?" Edith called as she ran her hands over his few hanging shirts and trousers.

"That depends, darling," he replied, moving to lean against the closet doorway so they needn't shout.

"On what?" she asked, moving to the bureau to try the drawers.

"On you, and our plans, and what you'd like to do once we're married. If you'd like to stay, to be here with your family, we can stay. We can stay indefinitely I mean. If you wish to return to Dublin we can do that. If you want to set up home at the Carlingford house, or the flat, or somewhere new entirely, we can do that as well. It's up to you, whatever will make you happy."

Edith momentarily abandoned her search for something to wear to turn to Anthony. He looked so relaxed, so casual, as if they weren't talking about the loveliest things. Edith walked over to him, leaning into his chest.

"I adore you. Have you any idea how wonderful it sounds to be 'setting up home' with you?" she asked.

Anthony smiled gratefully and leaned down. "I'm glad you feel that way," he said before kissing her. When the kiss deepened and Anthony, in a most gentlemanly way, ran his tongue along Edith's, she leapt up to wrap her arms around his neck, forcing Anthony to support her. Her towel fell to the floor and Anthony groaned. "You tricked me," he joked, carrying Edith to the bed.

"I did no such thing," she protested, working quickly at the trousers he'd just belted and buttoned five minutes ago.

"If this is to be the pattern, perhaps we should live separately during the week so I can still get to work."

"That sounds awful," Edith huffed, slipping his freshly-pressed shirt from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. She hurried backwards on the bed, making room as he climbed on with her.

"Mmm, agreed," he muttered, hovering over her as he kissed her collarbone. "It's a good thing I don't have to be back until fall term, eh?"

"A very good thing indeed," Edith confirmed before they were both beyond words.

At one o'clock they were sitting against the headboard, holding hands, Edith with a sheet wrapped around her. She was still reeling a bit from suddenly getting everything she wanted. Or, more accurately, suddenly getting the one person she ever wanted. Anthony was unusually quiet, and Edith could feel him thinking as his thumb absently stroked the back of her hand.

"I was thinking we should wait to tell the family. It would feel a little calloused to do it right now, with everything they're going through," Anthony sighed.

"Alright. And thank you for saying '_the_ family' and not '_your_ family.' But can we tell Gertie?"

"Oh I'll give her a full account of all the intimate details."

"You lie," Edith laughed, rolling her head to look at him, and then at their hands between them. Silence fell again, and Edith was fairly certain she could spend every day of the rest of her life simply holding hands with Anthony. But then the memories flooded back, all the new sensations, the feel of his lips on her and the way they fit together so well, and she flushed.

Looking over at Anthony, she could tell he was feeling slightly less elated.

"Tell me," Edith said quietly.

Anthony took a slow, deep breath and held onto it for a while before he began. "It's been a very, very long time since I've been with anyone, and I just fear, I mean to say that I hope for your sake, even out of practice," he stuttered. Edith had never seen him so unglued.

"Anthony, if you're referring to the last several rather indecent hours, you've nothing to worry about," she laughed. But Anthony looked something near miserable. "Hey," she softened, "what is this?"

Edith pulled on Anthony's arm, urging him to lie across her. His head rested on her sternum as his great arms wrapped around her body. He let out a heavy sigh. "It's not just the bedroom, darling, although I am rather relieved to hear you've not been let down," he said with a cheeky grin. "No, I just… worry, you know."

Edith did know. Anthony worried about her all the time, about everything. Whether she was too warm or too cold, whether she was being treated well by her family, if she'd had a good day, how she slept, how her work was going. Anthony worried, and he couldn't stop himself.

"Did I ever tell you how much I dreaded meeting you?" Edith asked suddenly, running her left hand up and down the plane of his back as her right locked with his on her hip.

"What? No."

"It's true. I thought, 'Good god, some new person I'll have to make nice with for Papa's sake who's likely just as arrogant and elitist as he is' and I am always so bad at meeting new people anyway. Ugh, I nearly had a panic attack right there in the hallway."

"You seemed perfectly calm when you opened the door," Anthony mused.

"I'm socially inept, Anthony, and I was panicking. I was all blushing and nervous, and you know it. And then I saw you and the panic really kicked in."

"Because I was the elitist prig you expected?"

"Because, Dr. Strallan, you were the most handsome man I'd ever seen, and it didn't hurt that you were surrounded by books."

"Ten minutes into that first conversation I knew I was beat," Anthony recalled, squeezing Edith a little tighter.

"To the victor the spoils," she muttered, unable to stop from beaming at the man who would be her husband. "And what spoils would you like, Anthony?"

"I want to make you happy. I want a home, wherever that may be, filled with you. I want to spend the majority of each day with you, if not all of it, as I've gotten used to over the last six or seven months. I want to be able to kiss you whenever I feel like it, and I want to be able to run my fingers through your hair while we lay on a blanket in the garden in the spring. I want you in my bed every night and most mornings and sometimes in between. And," he finally came to the final but most important thing on the list. "I want to have a baby with you. Or several."

"Oh gosh, and I thought you were going to ask for something big," Edith teased, but her heart was pounding and her breath caught in her chest.

Anthony sat up so he might look at her directly. "I'm sorry, if it's too much," he began.

Edith cut him off with a fierce kiss. "Only you can say something as profoundly wonderful as all that and apologize for it," she muttered against his lips.

"You really want all those things? That life, with me?"

"Oh god, Anthony, yes. But with one caveat."

"Anything."

"Can we please get married right away? I don't want to fuss with a wedding, and I hate the idea of all that pressure and the attention. It would be ghastly. And I certainly don't want to wait. Next week, can't we just slip away somewhere and be married?"

"I think that can be arranged," he whispered, kissing her again. "But I think we have to get you home sometime before then. Just for propriety's sake."

Edith had walked to Anthony's the night before, partially because she hadn't wanted to alert the others to her absence by taking the car, and partially because she was so restless and agitated she thought the air would serve her well. Anthony dropped her back home, at the side gate so they wouldn't be noticed, especially since she was wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers rolled at the waist and an old hoodie from his university days.

"Doesn't it just seem impossible to separate after a morning like this?" Edith had asked. "Nothing seems impossible anymore," he replied sincerely, kissing her goodbye.

Now, as she sat at the desk in her childhood bedroom, pinning back her washed and dried hair, she felt rather lonely without him. Everything had changed this morning. Or, if Edith was being really honest, it had changed the day they met. And now, the prospect of going downstairs to sit with the family in silence was nearly unbearable. It didn't make sense to her, all milling about in one room just for the sake of being miserable in front of one another.

Mrs. Hughes came in, startling Edith from her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, dear, I thought you were away," Mrs. Hughes said gently.

"Oh, it's alright. Come in, please," Edith said before the elder woman could shut the door again.

Edith had missed Mrs. Hughes while she'd been away, perhaps more than anyone. There was something about her soft expressions and soothing voice and her ability to remain completely unruffled no matter how bad the crisis. Or maybe it was that most of her earliest memories were of following Mrs. Hughes around the house and enjoying the woman's infinite patience. Regardless, Edith always had the urge to lay her head in Mrs. Hughes' lap while she hummed Scottish folk songs and stroked her hair.

"Has anyone thought to ask how you're doing?" Edith questioned.

Mrs. Hughes was moving to the bed. "I will miss Sybil every day for the rest of my life. She was a dear, kind person and she was going to make a wonderful mother. But I will carry on," she sighed. Edith's eyes were brimming over as she nodded quickly. "We all will," Mrs. Hughes added pointedly, taking Edith's chin in her hand.

"Yes," Edith agreed, turning back to her desk to pick up another hairpin.

They were silent for a while until Mrs. Hughes muttered an "Oh my."

"What is it?" Edith asked, alarmed.

"Well, I came to change your sheets, and I see they've not been slept in. And in your bathroom there's a pair of men's drawers," Mrs. Hughes said slowly, her face frozen in an all-too-familiar expression that patiently demanded an explanation.

Edith couldn't stop herself. "Oh Mrs. Hughes, he's wonderful. He's sweet and kind, and so thoughtful, and we talk about everything. He's my best friend, and I adore him. We're waiting to tell the family until after the funeral, but we want to be married. I'm so happy."

Mrs. Hughes nodded calmly and eased herself onto the foot of the bed. Patting the space next to her she said, "I think I require a bit more information than that, child. Come on."

"You don't think it's awful, with it being so soon after Sybil and all?"

"It's never a bad time to be happy, dear, especially at a time like this."

Edith sat beside her gladly, trying to think of where to start. "This is about the only thing I've missed while I was away. And I'm far too old for it."

"You're never too old for this kind of thing. Now tell me what you've been up to."

"It's Anthony Strallan," Edith said tentatively, sitting sideways on the bed, tucking one leg beneath her.

"Well that makes sense," Mrs. Hughes said simply.

"It does? Why?"

"Because he's older, and a very kind spirit, and he's just as shy and bookish as yourself."

"Oh, god, I love him so much," Edith said, tearing up and laughing at once.

Mrs. Hughes smiled affectionately. "I'm so glad, my little girl," the older woman smiled, tearing up herself, though she tried to hide it. "Anyway, enough of this. There will be plenty of folks over, wishing to pay their respects, and they won't go hungry on my watch," she said brightly.

"You won't tell Mama and Papa will you? The timing is just so…precarious."

"Edith, dear, two minutes with you and Dr. Strallan together and no one would need to be 'told' anything. But no, I won't say a word about it."

Edith smiled in gratitude as Mrs. Hughes shut the door. Bolstering herself, Edith was just getting ready to head downstairs when her mobile buzzed.

"Miss me already?" she asked by way of greeting.

"Unbearably," Anthony replied. "Also, I was wondering who I'd have to seduce to get an invite to dinner tonight."

"You might try Mary. She's a bit frigid but she pretty much runs the social calendar around here."

"Excellent," he said dryly. "Might you have a number where I can reach her?"

"So you'll come?"

"If you think it won't be odd."

"Not at all, and at the risk of sounding dependent, I think I need you to be there."

"Seven?"

"Could you be here at six instead? Pre-dinner cocktails or something? I can't wait until seven."

"Six, love."

Edith smiled and closed her eyes. "Will I always want you this badly?"

"If I play my cards right, love," Anthony answered softly. They were silent for a while, neither willing to end the call.

"Mrs. Hughes has laundered your shorts," Edith said suddenly.

"Was the poor woman scandalized?"

"Elsie Hughes as worked for the Crawley family for twenty-five years. It will take a great deal more than a pair of men's underwear to shock her."

The voice that replied was not Anthony's, and it did not come from the phone. "Like what? Please tell," a heavily pregnant Anna asked, lingering in the doorway to Edith's room.

"Anna's just come," Edith said quickly.

"Give her my many thanks, and I will see you at six," Anthony replied. "Oh, and Edith?"

"Yes?"

"I love you madly," and then he was gone.

Edith turned to Anna, suddenly aware of how much she'd missed her. "There's so much to talk about I literally don't know where to start."

"Well," Anna mused, shutting the door. "Let's start with why you look so flushed, and then we can talk about the baby for a bit, and then together we'll have a good cry about Sybil, and then, when that's done, we'll go into every minute detail about why, exactly, Mrs. Hughes should be shocked by a pair of men's drawers. Okay?"

"Anna, I love you," Edith laughed, taking Anna's hand as the both lied back on the bed together. Anna adjusted all the pillows around her pregnant belly as Edith laid her head across Anna's lap and put her feet up on one of the four posts.

"Of course you do," Anna giggled. Giving Edith her sternest face, she said, "Now, spill."


	18. Tread Softly

A/N: Forgot to put this last time, but rating warning-we shift into M territory eventually.

* * *

Anthony had been at this front door maybe a dozen times as a younger man. He and Robert had never been chummy growing up, as Robert had gone to Eton and Anthony to Harrow. It wasn't until they both ended up at Cambridge that the two men had become really acquainted, and even then their friendship was more of polite necessity than real camaraderie. They couldn't very well ignore each other, parents living so close together and enjoying the same circle of friends at school.

In those days Crawley House had belonged to Violet and Patrick Crawley, and Anthony remembered a general feeling of rigidity upon entering. Now that it was in the care of the American, bohemian Cora, there was an undeniable warmth and sense of welcome emanating from the old house. The change, he imagined as he rang the bell, could also have something to do with a certain young woman who was waiting for him inside.

Mrs. Hughes opened the door. "Hello, Dr. Strallan, please come in," she greeted. "Edith has been waiting for you, I believe. Just through there."

She pointed to a door on the right. When Anthony walked in he found a small sitting room, dark from the gray day and with no lights on. Edith was sitting on a sofa, rocking her niece and humming. She didn't look up when he came in, and he didn't dare interrupt. It was too perfect. The way Edith's long neck craned down to peer at the baby, and the faint smile on her lips as she stared in a sort of affectionate wonder. It was a look often associated with newborns, but not one Anthony had seen on Edith, and it mesmerized him.

It was hard for Anthony to imagine that as recently as two days ago he wasn't sure if he'd ever see Edith again, let alone have the promise of a future with her. Now, as he lingered silently in the doorway, taking in her resplendent features, he was reminded of their morning and all the things it meant. She would be his wife, and one day that would be his child in her arms.

"I didn't hear you," she said suddenly, looking up. Anthony cleared his throat, trying not to seem too emotional. This effort was doubled when he approached and saw that Edith had been crying. He needn't ask why.

Sitting beside her, he ran a hand over the sleeping baby's head. He was decidedly inexperienced with infants, but Anthony was still sure this one was pretty and soft, as her mother had been. "She's really beautiful," Anthony offered, pressing a kiss to Edith's temple.

"She looks just like Sybil," Edith said, leaning into Anthony. It felt right, having her so close. He didn't like when they were apart and he couldn't know firsthand whether she was safe and happy and well. "You're worrying about me again," Edith sniffed, looking up at him. "I can feel it."

Anthony smiled down at her, tucking a finger under her chin. "Second nature, I'm afraid, darling." Despite the promise he'd made to himself, Anthony decided to risk exposure and leaned down to press a light, affirming kiss to Edith's lips, and then her cheek. "You've given me permission to worry about you every day of forever now, so you may as well get used to it."

"Do you want to hold her?" Edith asked suddenly, presenting the little bundle to him. Anthony must have looked nervous because Edith laughed lightly. "You're not going to hurt her, Uncle."

"Oh, of course," he mumbled. There was something profound about the situation, about the way Edith smiled at him, though what exactly Anthony couldn't say.

"You alright?" she asked with a facetious little grin.

"Perfectly at my leisure, thank you," he muttered, bouncing Sybie in his hand. That anything could be so small rather astounded him. The baby fit almost entirely between his elbow and his wrist.

"Well don't get too comfortable," Edith sighed, running her fingers through Anthony's hair once before kissing him on the forehead and standing. "Mrs. Hughes and I are conspiring to save Tom and you're our unwitting accomplice."

"What do you mean?"

"Tom asked Mrs. Hughes to watch the baby over three hours ago. Charlie Carson called her to say that Tom's currently drowning his sorrows at the Grantham Arms. You and I are going to go fish him out before Papa finds further reason to criticize the poor man."

"And the baby?" Anthony asked?

"I've got her," Mrs. Hughes replied, bustling through the door. "You two run along and get him home. Robert will be none too pleased with his son-in-law being drunk in the village."

"I can't see how anyone would blame the poor chap," Anthony said, handing Sybie to Mrs. Hughes.

"And I thought you knew Robert Crawley," Mrs. Hughes replied with a skeptical little laugh.

"Also, Mrs. Hughes knows about us, and our plans," Edith said casually. Anthony blushed, he knew, and offered an awkward smile to the older woman, but Edith took his hand. "Come on, we've got to hurry."

In the car, Edith let out a long sigh and closed her eyes. "How was your day, darling? Are you bearing up?" Anthony asked.

"My day was fine, to a point," she said, a cheeky smile pulling on one side of her mouth as, he could only assume, she replayed some of their morning activities. She opened her eyes to look sideways at Anthony. "Sybil liked you, you know. Over Christmas, she asked me how long you and I had been sleeping together. And when I told her we weren't she didn't believe me. She said I should snatch you up and never let you go. And she was right. She would have been so happy for us, Anthony, and probably she would have taken a little credit for it too, as was her way." Edith let out a sad laugh.

"I liked her very much. I'm so sorry, Edith, that you have to face this."

"I don't have to face it alone. Not anymore," she sighed, reaching over to take his hand. Pulling his arm across her, Edith rested her head back. "It's like I can't breathe right until you're around. This week is going to be torture, but then let's never be apart again."

"Took the words right from my mouth," he muttered. They were quiet for a long time, as Anthony felt Edith's tension easing away. His heart hurt for her, for the loss she was suffering, and he hated that there was little he could do to assuage it. The road wound through patches of trees and various fields, and Anthony wished he could be taking Edith away from it all.

"You're worrying again," she said without opening her eyes.

"I'm not. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about Tom."

"Liar. But go on."

"Who is Charlie Carson, and why did he call Mrs. Hughes?"

Edith opened her eyes again, and as Anthony glanced over to gauge her expression, she almost looked embarrassed. "Charlie Carson owns the Grantham Arms. He bought it from old Rudy Hill about ten years ago."

"And why should he call Mrs. Hughes instead of one of the family?"

Edith raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes have been… close… for sometime. They are quite good… friends, it seems."

"Ah," Anthony muttered. After a moment he said, "Good for Mrs. Hughes."

For reasons unknown to Anthony, this made Edith laugh heartily. "I love you," she giggled, kissing his arm as she laid her head against it.

"As much as Mrs. Hughes loves Charlie Carson?"

"Oh, I don't know if I would go that far," Edith said gravely before bursting into a fit of giggles again. Anthony laughed too, though more at her reaction than anything else.

"You're mad," he muttered. "Absolutely barking."

"I'm with you, aren't I?"

"Valid point, love," he chuckled, squeezing her knee.

Another few minutes passed when Anthony asked, "What tune was that you were humming to the baby?"

"Look for the silver lining."

"I thought it sounded familiar. Gertie used to sing that to me when I was a boy."

"I know," Edith said quietly, looking out the passenger window.

The Grantham Arms was a perfectly standard English pub, complete with dark wood walls and brass fixtures and a weathered oak floor that had seen a hundred years worth of farmer's boots and traveler's trunks and spilled pints. A little after six in the evening on a Wednesday, there was a fair smattering of people, but the place was quiet.

Tom was sitting at the bar, nursing a dark drink in a short glass. A great man with a proud beak of a nose and impressive eyebrows stood erect behind the bar. "Hi, Mr. Carson," Edith said quietly as she moved directly for Tom. "This is Anthony Strallan."

"Mr. Strallan," the man greeted with a deep voice and a nod of his head. Anthony imagined that if he were an animal he would be a great, wise owl with a big chest and severe eyebrows who fluffed his feathers whenever someone stepped out of line. Anthony liked him immediately.

"Mr. Carson," he said with a nod as he followed Edith.

"Tom, sweetheart, come home," Edith pleaded, taking the stool on the far side of him.

"Your father's house isn't my home," he replied.

Anthony took the other stool adjacent to Tom and Carson brought a pint each for he and Edith.

"I know how Papa is, but you are welcome there, as difficult as he may be at the moment. And you're not without friends, I promise."

"I think I'll stay here and get rat arsed, but thank you. I'll be there for Sybie, mind, but just for tonight I want to get good and langered."

"Then you'll need another drink," Anthony sighed, making eye contact with Carson. Edith looked at him questioningly. "Tom's got as much right to get drunk as anyone, love. It's not going to help a damn thing, Tom, and tomorrow it'll be the same with a headache to boot, I promise. But if this is what you want, I'll stay here all night and drink myself sick with you."

"I don't 'want' anything but Sybil," Tom said, tears flooding his eyes as he turned to Anthony. "You've lost a wife. You must know what I'm going through."

"Not a bloody clue," Anthony said. "My wife died, sure, but I didn't love her, and I didn't know her. I thought I did, but I was wrong. Anyway, we weren't friends, Tom. I can't claim to know what you're going through, and I wouldn't dare."

"I just don't know how to do it. I don't remember life before her, you know? And without her it's like there's just no wind in my lungs anymore," Tom whispered, dropping his forehead into his hands. Anthony glanced over him to Edith, who looked heartbroken and like she was trying desperately not to make matters worse by crying herself.

"I've only loved one woman in my life that way, Tom, and if anything happened to her I wouldn't be on my feet. I wouldn't want to live without her. I get that, mate. But you've got Sybie to think about now, and that's something to hold onto."

Tom nodded, wiping his cheeks quickly with the back of his hand. "Poor thing is stuck with me," he said with a bitter laugh.

"I'd say she had two parents who loved each other completely, and who both loved her, and a father who will continue to love her, and that's more than most of us get," Anthony said quietly.

"Yes," Edith finally said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and began more assuredly. "Sybil will never really be gone, because she's there in Sybie." Edith ran a hand over Tom's shoulder as her eyes met Anthony's. They seemed to be as pleading and desperate as they were grateful and affectionate.

In that moment Anthony knew there was no possibility that he and Edith would ever take each other for granted. It had taken him fifty years to find her, and he certainly wasn't going to forget it.

"Your father's going to eat the head off me when I get back," Tom groaned, pushing his drink away and looking up to the ceiling.

"Not if we get you straight to bed. I'll get up with the baby tonight, you get some rest. And tomorrow will come, and then the next day and the next, and you'll carry on."

Tom nodded by way of response. As they moved from the stools, he and Anthony both took out their wallets.

"On the house, Mr. Branson," Carson mumbled.

Anthony and Edith led a stumbling Tom to the car. He fell asleep on the short drive back, but they managed to get him up to his room without incident, removing his loafers and jacket before leaving him to sleep it off.

By the time they got to the drawing room, the family was just gathering for dinner, totally unaware of the hassle they'd just gone through. They were about to go in when Edith suddenly pulled Anthony away into a darkened room across the hall. Judging from the twin desks and large chairs Anthony could make out in the scant light from the windows, it was Robert's library.

"What is it, darling?" he asked, truly concerned.

Edith threw her arms around Anthony so tightly it nearly knocked the wind out of him. "You're utterly wonderful. Thank you," she muttered into his chest.

"You needn't," Anthony began, but Edith interrupted him.

Pushing him down onto one of the chairs, she planted herself in his lap and pressed her lips hard against his.

Anthony had been with a few young women in his first years at University. When he'd married Maud he'd been loyal to her, of course, though he had longed for the passion missing from their marriage. There had been the occasional meaningless fling in the years that followed her death, each one proving to Anthony that he was simply not meant for that sort of encounter.

Now, as Edith Crawley pressed her tiny, supple frame against him and teased his lips with her tongue, he was shocked by his old body's reaction. She was round in all the right places, and so stunningly beautiful. Her skin was impossibly soft, and she smelled like lavender and fresh laundry. The folds of her cotton blouse and knit sweater were too easily manipulated to allow access to the warmth of her back and the curve of her small breasts. As his hands passed her ribs he could feel each heaving inhale and exhale.

"Good lord, Edith," he huffed, his voice throaty and unfamiliar. She deftly slipped her hands between them, undoing his trousers and relieving the tension there. Uncomfortable as he was to admit it, Anthony had never been so quickly or thoroughly aroused. His conservative side was almost embarrassed by it, but when he looked up and saw Edith's eyes practically glowing in the dark all such thoughts were abandoned. His hands slid to her backside, pulling her hips lower as she crushed against him.

"I just couldn't go any longer without touching you," she finally whispered. She stood, pressing her palms into Anthony's chest as she did to ensure he stayed put. Anthony watched with wonder as she boldly looked him in the eye and unbuttoned her slacks, letting the soft gray tweed to fall to the floor in a heap. She took a step forward, standing between his knees and peering down at him.

"We can't do this in your father's house, with your family one room over," Anthony tried. But Edith simply directed his hands to her hips, where her black lace briefs were begging to be removed.

"We can, and we shall," she demanded. The mischief and devilish command that painted her features was new to Anthony, but he was certain that he liked it. Realizing he had little to no choice in the matter, Anthony pulled Edith toward him by her hips, running kisses along her belly and her hipbones as he worked the lace down.

Placing her hands behind his neck and a knee on either side of Anthony, Edith sank down onto him. Pausing for a moment, apparently to catch her breath, Edith placed a trembling kiss on Anthony's lips. "I love you," she whispered as she pressed her forehead to his.

Anthony, in a fleeting thought, wondered if he might die of desire. He always tried his damnedest to be a gentleman, to behave with respect and decorum, but there was nothing proud about the small involuntary growl he released as Edith held him inside her, making him wait. He buried his face in the folds of her top as his hands traveled the curve of her backside up to her ribs. When she finally began to rock her hips, he was nearly senseless.

"I needed you today, and you were there," she said, her voice staggered and breathless.

"I always will be," he managed, trailing kisses along her collarbone.

"Anthony, I just," she whimpered, increasing her pace. "I just can't get you close enough."

"I know, darling, I'm here though," he assured, sliding his hands to the backs of her thighs to encourage her. He couldn't stop thinking how good she felt, and it terrified him. Anthony never thought of such things, and he'd never been so single-minded.

Edith's feet were beneath her, pressing into Anthony's knees. As the urgency built, she let out a huff that Anthony instantly recognized as frustration. The chair was no longer adequate.

"Edith," was all the warning he could give her before gripping her knees and lifting her with him as he stood.

"Sofa. There," she commanded as much as pleaded, pointing to a loveseat in the corner Anthony hadn't noticed at first glance. But Anthony knew they wouldn't make it that far. How he managed to lay them both onto the rug without separating he couldn't say for sure, but he had managed it. With Edith beneath him, and was able to hitch up one of her knees and drive deeper inside her.

"Are you, alright?" he asked.

Despite their exertions Edith laughed at him. "Stop _worrying_," she ordered. Then gripping his shoulders she added quickly, "Oh, but don't stop anything else." Unsure of how long he might last with the way she was running her fingers along his sides, Anthony released her knee so his hand might see to other ministrations.

They finished together in a rare and truly unprecedented way. Anthony couldn't tell if the guttural moan that followed was his or Edith's, but when he tried to move away she held him in place. "No, not yet," she huffed, adjusting her hips once or twice to feel him. "Separating from you is the worst part."

The vulnerability and sincerity in those words crashed over Anthony. "Oh, my sweet girl, I love you so, so much. We could never really be apart, not anymore."

When Edith finally let him go, they laid together for a while, catching their breath and staring up at the ceiling. When Anthony's senses returned, he rolled his head lazily to look at her—Edith, his goddess and best friend and future wife.

"Lovely library. Tell me, has your father any post-modern poetry?" he asked dryly.

Edith burst into laughter. "Not likely, darling. Maybe you can recommend some to him later."

"Speaking of which, won't they be missing us? It must be past seven already. I'm sure we're late for dinner."

"It was worth it," Edith replied, kissing him sweetly before reluctantly moving to get dressed.

In the drawing room Mary rolled her eyes. "Finally. We've been waiting for twenty minutes. Mrs. Hughes said you were giving Anthony a tour. How long can it take?" she scolded. "I'm sure dinner's cold by now."

"Mary, it's fine," Cora said weakly, too exhausted to play buffer between her children.

"Strallan, were we expecting you for dinner?" Robert asked, absently shaking the man's hand.

"Papa, I told you three times," Edith reminded. Robert shrugged, draining his glass of scotch.

"Are we just waiting on Tom?" Matthew asked.

"Tom's gone to bed. He needs a rest. After dinner I'm taking over Sybie duty for Mrs. Hughes," Edith explained.

"And what do you know about babies?" Mary asked. Before Edith could answer Mary's dark eyes turned on Anthony. She gave him a rather hostile once-over before turning back to Edith.

"What is he even doing here, Edith?" Mary hissed. Robert and Cora were moving for the door, oblivious to Mary's rudeness, and Matthew was trying to look anywhere but at his wife.

"Can we please just go into dinner?" Edith begged. Anthony saw in her face she sincerely wanted to avoid a scene.

"It's a family thing, Edith. Mama and Papa aren't up to playing host right now and you've no right to invite him over all the time."

Anthony could see Edith turning red, but whether it was in anger or embarrassment he couldn't be sure.

"Girls, dinner?" Robert urged as he and Cora waited by the door.

"Mary, please, please can we just try to have a pleasant dinner?" Edith whispered.

"He needs to go."

"He's not going anywhere," Edith said firmly. Anthony felt torn between unbelievable awkwardness and absolute anger on behalf of Edith.

"You never change," Mary said coldly, brushing between Edith and Anthony to meet her parents.

Edith took Anthony's hand, turning to the other four people in the room as they began to file through the door.

"Anthony's not going anywhere," Edith called out defiantly. All eyes turned back to them and Edith stepped in front of Anthony as if she might shield him from their reactions. "He's staying because I love him, and he is _my_ family, and because he and I are going to be married."

And in the booming silence that followed, Anthony thought he might have heard his own jaw hit the floor along with everyone else's.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for continuing to read. I hope the length of this chapter wasn't too tedious. Much more to follow.

Thank you for your loyalty, love, and wonderful reviews. Happy reading!


	19. The Tao of Cora

Once, when Anthony was five, he'd been running from his nanny and knocked over a Ching vase. His mother, furious and unsympathetic, sent Anthony to his father for a good scolding. Anthony would never forget the smell of his father's cigar, or the dark wood of the study, or the way George Strallan loomed over him, face alit with fury. When his father had begun yelling, young Anthony had wet himself, and received a rather severe lashing for it.

Throughout his adult life, Anthony compared every intimidating situation to that memory, and always found it comforting that nothing was as frightening as that image of his father.

Now, as Robert Grantham's glass of Scotch slipped from his hand and fell with a loud, tumbling thud to the rug, Anthony thought this moment might finally be comparable.

But then tiny, unassuming Edith squeezed his hand behind her back and squared her shoulders for battle, and Anthony knew he'd never be afraid of anyone but her, for the rest of his life.

"Edith, what?" Cora asked quietly, her large blue eyes searching her daughter's face for some indication of a joke.

"I don't believe it," Robert said with a frown.

Losing some of her resolve as Robert stepped back into the room, Edith began to stutter. "I, well we were going to tell you after the funeral, but I guess I changed that, em, plan."

"And how long as this been going on?" Robert asked, his tone accusatory as he looked from Edith to Anthony.

Edith said, "Not long" at the same time Anthony, finally finding his voice, replied, "From the moment we met."

"Edith, he's old enough to be your father. I know, because I'm your father," Robert scolded. Edith glanced to Anthony for assurance.

"Robert, please know that I mean you no disrespect. Edith and I," Anthony began, but he was interrupted.

"And _you_, Strallan. What could you possibly be thinking? You were supposed to keep an eye on her for god's sake!"

"I have done," Anthony answered calmly. "And I promise you that I love her and that I will take care of her, always."

"Oh for god's sake," Robert grumbled dismissively, rolling his eyes.

"Why don't we all take a seat," Cora suggested, offering half a smile to the now stammering couple who were trying to defend themselves on top of one another.

"Perhaps we should just," Matthew muttered, backing cautiously to the door and pulling Mary after him.

"I'm not going anywhere," Mary said, shaking free of Matthew and stepping toward Edith. "Are you really getting married?"

"Yes," she and Anthony answered at once. Edith added, "As soon as possible, after Saturday." The mention of the funeral seemed to bring everything a touch into perspective and everyone stood in silence for a moment.

"It strikes me you chose an interesting time to make your announcement," Mary said acerbically.

"I know, but we didn't plan on any of this, we couldn't have known," Edith muttered. Turning to her mother she said in a trembling voice, "I'm so, so sorry Mama, to spring this on you now."

Cora had taken a seat on the arm of the sofa, bracing herself weakly with one arm against the back. She looked calm, if not a little confused. "I just… well it is unexpected," Cora said quietly. "Are you both…sure?"

"Sure? Of course she isn't sure. This is completely absurd," Robert snapped.

"I know how you must be feeling, Robert," Anthony tried again, but his efforts were thwarted.

"You couldn't possibly. You don't have a daughter making a series of stupid decisions. Writing, then Dublin, and now this," Robert said quickly, pinching the space between his eyes.

"You don't understand at all," Edith sighed. She looked up at Anthony, her features awash with disappointment. "And they won't try to," she said only to him. Anthony ran his thumb along her palm, hoping to reassure her. He knew she was probably right, but he tried not to let it show in his face.

"Why don't we all have some supper? It's been a long day. We'll get some food in us and then hash it out," Matthew suggested with a stupidly optimistic smile.

"No, I think I'll go to bed," Robert pouted. As he reached the doorway he turned back to say, "I might have expected something like this from my daughter, Strallan, but I thought you'd have more decency and sense than that. At your age." And with that he was gone.

Cora stood, examined Edith again with a puzzled expression, and left silently.

"How can you be so selfish?" Mary hissed, but something in her face looked alarmed, almost emotional. The thought shocked Anthony, as he never would have attributed anything but frigidity to Mary Crawley. She turned and left, looking rather pale and shaken.

"Sorry, old girl," Matthew said to Edith with a crooked frown. "Chin up, right? You know how they are with change. Only reason they let me in is because I've been here since I was seven. It'll be alright." With a nod in Anthony's direction Matthew was gone after his wife.

Edith and Anthony stood frozen in the drawing room, hands still clasped instinctively, while they processed the last several minutes. Edith was staring at the floor, and Anthony was staring at Edith. He knew she must be hurting, and could tell by the clinching of her jaw that she was angry, and he wondered which emotion to comfort first.

"Oh god, Anthony, I am so, so sorry," she finally sighed, tears streaming from her eyes. Anthony pulled them both to the sofa, Edith immediately curling into his side as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Don't apologize, darling. You've done nothing wrong."

"We were going to wait. We were going to wait until after the funeral, and we were going to tell them together, calmly and as gently as possible. What in the hell was that? Why did I do that?"

"I don't know, love, but perhaps it's for the best," Anthony said, laughing lightly at his bewildered fiancé.

"I don't understand. Mary makes me act like a child. It's like I'm five years old again and she's just taken my stuffed pony and somehow I'm in trouble for it."

Anthony smiled. Not at her comparison, but at the fact that they were so similar. "We neither of us are children, darling. We're adults, it's the twenty-first century. It will be fine. They'll come around."

Edith's face was buried in his side, beneath his arm as she stewed. When she looked up suddenly, hair mussed and eyes watery, Anthony's chest filled with love for her. "How on earth are you so calm right now? You worry about everything. This doesn't panic you?"

"It might have, a few months ago when your sister… well anyway, it might have done, but not now."

"What's changed?"

"Everything," he sighed, leaning down to kiss Edith on her trembling lips.

"Edith, I," Cora said, stopping short as she stumbled in on their display. "Oh, heavens… sorry."

"Mama?" Edith sounded almost desperate, standing and fidgeting nervously with her hands. Anthony stood too, unsure, for one of the few times in his life, how exactly to behave.

"I was only going to say that I can't sleep, and I'd prefer to stay with the baby tonight."

"Are you sure?" Edith asked, stepping toward her mother. "Because I don't mind. You've been through so much this week, Mama."

"We all have. Anyway, at this age they eat, sleep, and need changing. I can handle that. Why don't you and Anthony get along. Your father would be none too pleased to find either of you here should he venture downstairs again. You may want to steer clear for a while."

"Oh, Mama," Edith heaved, rushing toward her mother, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Cora warned, slightly annoyed. Edith stopped short, the hands that had been ready to embrace Cora falling limply to her sides. "Your timing was less than ideal, Edith, and you could probably work on your delivery. But I realize you're an adult, and you'll do what you want." Looking to Anthony for the first time, Cora added, "I'm not in the mood to sort this out now. Just go."

Edith turned to Anthony stiffly. "I'm going to grab a few things from my room. I'll be right back," she muttered, and then she was gone, leaving Anthony alone in the Crawley's drawing room.

The morning of Sybil's funeral, the first thing Edith had done upon waking was turn to Anthony, who had been watching her sleep from his side of the bed. "I'm so glad you're here. I don't think I could have faced today without you."

They had been sleeping with their arms entwined, their knees curled toward each other. Anthony had pulled Edith to his chest just as the tears began. "I am here, my darling Edith. You're not alone, and you will get through it," he assured her, pressing kisses into the top of her head.

Now, as they sat together in the garden at Crawley House, vaguely watching the many guests milling about the wake, Edith leaned against him, exhausted. It had been a tense three days, hardly a word spoken between her and the rest of the Crawley family. She'd been around the house, of course, to help with the food and the funeral arrangements, so sign for flowers and greet visitors, and generally lend a silent hand as she was so used to doing. The difference, of course, was that Anthony was literally beside her through all of it, and that each night she returned to Locksley with him, to their bed.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Edith sighed, setting aside her untouched plate of food.

"You'll never have to find out," Anthony said, rubbing her shoulders. "Are you cold? Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you," Edith replied, closing her eyes as she laid her head against his chest, straining to hear his heart beating. "Just warn me if anyone is coming our way."

"Your grandmother, actually," he said. Edith was fairly sure she felt Anthony's entire body grow tense.

"Oh lord help us," she grumbled, sitting up.

Violet Crawley was a formidable woman. Edith adored her, but learned very early on never to make Granny cross. When they had told Granny of their plans over tea on Thursday, she had been less than receptive. The way she pursed her lips now, and her determined gait, made Edith wish she and Anthony could have disappeared back to Dublin already.

"Mrs. Crawley, would you like to sit?" Anthony asked, moving to stand behind Edith so Violet might take his seat on the bench. Edith was relieved when he immediately took her left hand in his, and his right came to rest on her shoulder.

"Edith," she began, giving Anthony a conspicuous once over. After Violet's eyes lingered unhappily on the pair's clasped hands, she continued, "Your mother's been looking for you. She wants to see you inside."

"What did she want, did she say?" Edith asked.

"I haven't the faintest. You're to meet her in her bedroom. Alone."

Edith looked up at Anthony. He was clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of separation. She stood and wrapped her arms around his middle. As she hugged him, she whispered, "I'll be alright."

"Of course you will, it's me I'm worried about," he joked nervously, kissing her temple.

As Edith made her way into the house, smiling politely as one of Robert's business friends paid their condolences, she heard her Granny say, "Sit down, Strallan, before I strain my neck. I want to speak to you."

She turned to offer a sympathetic smile before taking the back stair to find her mother.

"Granny said you wanted to see me?" Edith asked, tenuously pushing her mother's bedroom door open. Cora was sitting on the bed, pictures and old books spread around her.

Edith had always found her mother stunningly beautiful. Her bright blue eyes, just like Sybil's, were always illuminated by a warm smile or knowing glare. Her elegant hands were soft, and Edith still craved their touch when she was sick or particularly upset. Cora Crawley was the tranquil, lenient balance to Robert's stubborn authority, and there was always an aura of serenity around her, a soft loveliness that was always present.

"Come in and shut the door, please, Edith," Cora said.

"Is everything alright?"

"Come, sit," Cora instructed, gesturing to Edith with both hands. Edith took them gladly as she sat on the edge of the bed, relieved that she wasn't due for a scolding. Cora looked into her eyes and took a deep breath.

"I know the last couple days haven't been easy on you. Aside from the obvious, I mean. Papa doesn't approve of you and Anthony, and he has made it quite clear, I realize."

Edith looked away, tearing up at the acknowledgement. The contempt from her father, and from Mary and Granny, was easier to manage when she could ignore it.

"Yes," Edith finally said. "But it doesn't change anything. We're going to be married this week regardless."

"Don't be defensive with me," Cora warned gently. "I'm trying to explain something to you." Picking up one of the books she opened it and handed it to Edith. "Do you recognize this writing?"

"It's Papa's," Edith answered, frowning at the yellowed pages filled with her father's handwriting.

"These are his journals. From college," Cora said, handing Edith another several notebooks from the stack.

"I didn't know Papa kept journals."

"He doesn't anymore."

Edith read through a couple pages. "This is quite beautiful, Mama. I had no idea Papa could write."

"Where do you think you get it, Sweetheart?"

Edith looked up, suddenly feeling the tears surfacing again. "Why are you showing me these?"

"Edith, I'm going to tell you something because I think you need to hear it. Okay?"

"Alright," Edith said, looking apprehensively into her mother's eyes.

"When your papa and I met, he was engaged to someone else."

"What?"

"It's true. You see, Robert had wanted to travel, to study art and literature, and explore the world. But your Granny and Granddad, they said absolutely not. So Robert went to business school, like they wanted, and he went to Cambridge, like they wanted. And, like they wanted, he was engaged to a young woman named Jane Moorsum. She was perfect—beautiful, smart, refined, docile, British—and your Granny approved of her thoroughly."

"I don't believe I've never heard of this," Edith whispered, waiting in earnest for her mother to continue.

"Well, Robert's not very proud of it, and Granny certainly wouldn't drudge it up. We met in our junior year, when I was doing a study abroad program. I actually met your father through Anthony, if you can believe that. A friend of a friend sort of thing. Anyway, your Papa and I, well we got along well enough. Nothing in common, as I'm sure you can imagine, but we certainly were attracted to each other. We were like magnets."

"Mama," Edith muttered, hoping to avoid too many intimate details.

"Anyway, Granny caught wind of it, and actually came down to Cambridge to whip your father into shape. He was so infuriated, and his pride so wounded, that he came to me. He swore he loved me, and I was young and crazy about him, of course. And we ran away together. We were married three days later."

"Mama? But I've seen your wedding photos," Edith stammered, frowning as she tried to work it all out. Cora nodded knowingly and patted her daughter's hands, urging her to be patient.

"Yes, well, your Granny was furious, naturally. She tried to convince Robert to get it annulled, and was forever arguing for Jane's sake. It wasn't until I got pregnant with Mary a few months later that she finally gave up. She insisted we have a big white wedding to save appearances, and that was that."

"Why is he making it so difficult for me, and Anthony, when he went through the very same thing?"

Cora nodded once, as if to say Edith was finally catching on. "Because, angel, your father didn't love me when we got married. He married me out of anger, as a rebellion against his parents, not because he wanted me but because I was everything his family didn't want for him. You and he are so alike, Edith, much more than you realize. Your father sees it, and that's why he's worried. He doesn't want you making the same mistakes he made."

"Oh, Mama," Edith managed. "How awful for you," she said, throwing her arms around her mother fiercely.

"No, my darling. He learned to love me, and we've been very, very happy together. But we were lucky. Your father is worried that your marrying Anthony is only a reaction against him," Cora said, brushing Edith's hair from her face as she sat up again.

"But Mama," Edith sniffed, wiping her cheeks, "I love Anthony. I love him so entirely."

To Edith's immense satisfaction, Cora offered a sudden but definite smile. "I know, Edith."

"And Anthony loves me back."

"I know that too."

"You do?"

"Yes. I was watching Anthony during the service, and the wake. Do you know what he was watching?" Edith shook her head. "_You_. His eyes never left you. Every time he offered you his arm, or his coat, or a drink, or whatever, all I saw was love. For the past three days, he moves when you move, and I can see what you mean to each other."

"We're just…supposed to be together," Edith huffed.

"I think I'm beginning to realize that, and in time so will everyone else. Even your father can't deny it after today, believe me."

"Really?"

"Oh, my baby, yes. Don't worry, they'll all see it," Cora said.

A week of worrying suddenly off her shoulders, Edith took a heaving breath and finally collapsed into sobs in her mother's lap. Cora laughed sympathetically at her daughter, maternally running her fingers through Edith's hair. "It's alright, sweetheart. Breathe, it's okay."

When Edith finally calmed herself, and her breathing steadied, she said quietly, "Thank you, Mama. For telling me. And for understanding."

"Will you do me just one favor in return?"

Edith sat up, red-faced, and nodded. "Of course, what is it?"

"Please," Cora implored, taking Edith's face in her hands, "Please don't elope next week. I want to see it so badly, and I know the rest of the family does too. And this house needs a good party after what we've been through. I'm not saying it has to be huge, I know how you hate big affairs. Just something small and special, in a month or two. A proper wedding. Please? Please let me see my daughter's wedding?"

Edith instinctively cringed at the idea of doing something as personal as exchanging vows in front of a crowd, but looking into her mother's large, pleading eyes, she realized it was a small sacrifice to make for familial peace. And really, nothing else mattered anymore now that she had Anthony.

"Yes, Mama. You can have your wedding," Edith agreed. The squeal of excitement Cora released as she hugged Edith tightly made her laugh. "As long as Anthony's invited, I don't care how we do it."

Back downstairs, Edith found Anthony still in the garden. He was standing, his back to Edith, rubbing his neck and looking out over the sprawling lawn. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a black tie. Edith had never seen him in such formal clothing, but she didn't mind it a bit. He was so handsome when he turned at the sound of her footfall she had to remind herself to breathe.

"Well, I survived. How did you fare?" Edith asked as she laced her arm through his.

"Divide and conquer, eh? Well we did fine. Your granny explained that she knew my parents, and knew we were a decent if not 'unfathomably dull' sort, and that she's waited twenty-five years to see you be really happy."

"She did?" Edith asked in surprise as she led Anthony around the corner to the privacy of the great oak tree.

"Mm-hmm," he said with a frown. "And then she said that she was the means and the connections to make me disappear if I hurt you, or otherwise embarrass the family."

"That sounds like Granny," Edith chuckled.

"Does Violet Crawley watch a lot of American mafia films?"

"I think the mafia would be afraid of Gran," Edith laughed again as they sat against the trunk together.

"And you? What did Cora want, love?"

"To give us her blessing, and to assure that Papa will stop being such a prig. And," Edith dropped her voice, "to beg us for a wedding."

"I hope you agreed," Anthony said quickly.

"Really? You don't mind?"

"After this week, and today especially, I think I appreciate the importance of it more. I think it will help ease the family. And as long as it's you I'm marrying I don't care how we do it."

"That's exactly what I said," Edith smiled.

"Really? How odd, it's like we're soul mates or something ridiculous like that," Anthony teased.

"Something like that," Edith muttered, pulling Anthony into a long and grateful kiss.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the length between updates! I wasn't happy with this chapter but decided enough was enough and to just post anyway. Hope you enjoy.

Thank you, always, for continuing to read and review. You're just too lovely, and I thoroughly appreciate it.

Much more to follow, so stay with me. :)


	20. Thirty-Five Days

The next day, when Cora and Robert stopped by Locksley to speak with Edith and Anthony, five weeks had not seemed so long. "It'll be perfect. The middle of May, not too soon but not long either. Don't worry about a thing, I'll get it all arranged. All I'll need from you two is a guest list," Cora had rambled while Robert silently, begrudgingly, sat beside her and stared at the delicate ring that had taken residence on his middle daughter's finger that very morning.

"Five weeks is… manageable," Edith had agreed, smiling at Anthony. They both knew it was good for Cora, giving her something to focus on. Between the wedding and her new granddaughter, she was starting to revive a little bit.

But as the days wore on, that Saturday in mid-May seemed to get further and further away. Edith had essentially moved in to Locksley, though she made the regular appearance at Crawley House to try and appease her father. Mary and Matthew had lived together for over a year before they got married and no one had complained, but Edith was forced to accept that she and Anthony would always be the exception.

The two of them used the time making plans and decisions. "I'll do whatever makes you happy," Anthony had repeated. "Yes, but I won't do the entire decision making on my own either," Edith had insisted. And so together they made an arrangement. They would live in Dublin during the week, Carlingford on weekends and between terms, and spend a month every summer here, in Grantham Village.

It did seem like an awful lot of travelling to Edith, but she refused to let Anthony give up the work he loved, and they both longed to stay in the Carlingford house now that it was the keeper of such fond memories. And Grantham Village was the sacrifice Anthony made for Edith, so she might see her family. After the honeymoon, which Anthony insisted on keeping a surprise, they would return to Dublin and begin their new lives together.

With the logistics sorted, Anthony and Edith began to pass the days with other activities, like long walks and card games and playing with Sybbie. They both had work to be done, of course, but her writing and his research could be managed practically anywhere—sprawled out in the library, on a blanket on the bank of the creek, leaning against one of the great trees in the yard. Incidentally, neither ever seemed to get much work done in one go as all these places also allowed for things that were much more exhilarating.

The weather was warming, the countryside was in bloom, and Edith and Anthony were perfectly content. The week before the wedding Gertrude arrived, doubling Edith's fun and causing Anthony twice the eyerolls. "You two gang up on me, it isn't fair," he said one night, pretending to be annoyed. "And you love every minute of it, Brother," Gertrude had laughed with a clap on his shoulder.

Six days, and then five. Edith was so anxious she could hardly breathe. Not with the usual pre-wedding jitters, but with giddy anticipation. Four days, three days. Cora was frenzied with preparations, and every time the phone rang, Anthony felt compelled to answer as Edith closed her eyes and covered her ears like a child.

And then, after what seemed an eternity, it was Friday, and the day before Edith would finally be Anthony's wife.

"Anthony, have you seen my navy blouse? I wanted to wear it to brunch with Anna," Edith called from the closet, shuffling through the piles of his clothes and hers, all thrown together from the laundry, forgotten at the preference of other activities.

Anthony was lying in bed in his boxers and a white undershirt, reading. It was still early, absurdly so for a weekend, and as Edith peaked through the door to look at him, she wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers with him.

"I prefer it when you wear nothing at all," he answered, turning a page in his book.

"Likewise, my love, but the public might be less than thrilled and I'm also trying to pack for my enforced night of imprisonment." Edith sighed heavily at the thought. While she was allowed to quietly but blatantly stay at Locksley for the weeks leading up to their wedding, tradition and the Crawley's dictated that Edith's last unmarried night would be spent at home. Ridiculous, really, but she went along with it, trying to appreciate the sentiment.

"I'm sorry, I haven't seen it. I'd be impressed if you could find anything in that makeshift disaster we call a closet."

"Well, we're running on limited supplies here. Half of my things are in Dublin, the majority of yours are split between Dublin and Carlingford," she said.

"Except what I left at Gertrude's in my hurry to get here before the funeral."

Edith gave up on the blouse she'd had in mind and settled for a white shirt and a sweater from the top of Anthony's stack. She grabbed the first pair of jeans she could find and pulled them on as well.

As she emerged from the closet, buttoning her jeans, she caught Anthony staring and smiled questioningly at him.

"Sometimes it just strikes me all over again that you chose me, and it's hard to wrap my head around," he said quietly, closing his book.

"You say the most wonderful things, Anthony. It strikes me too, sometimes. We're very lucky, you and I," she agreed, meandering to his side of the bed and running a coy finger along the edge.

"Don't you have to be on your way to brunch?" he asked, though his hands were already cupping Edith's hips possessively.

"I do," she sighed, climbing onto the bed beside him, running her hands over his chest. Her knees had just come to rest on either side of him when her mobile rang. Edith growled and looked up at the ceiling.

"What is it, Mama?"

"Edith, I was just wondering what time you were planning on coming over. Because your dress is hung and pressed, and Mrs. Hughes can make any minor adjustments once you come and try it on."

"We'll have all night for that, Mama. There's plenty of time."

"Of course, baby. I was just wondering. Also, are you still certain of the song selections?"

"Mama, the songs and the shoes are the only two things I'm adamant about."

"I do wish you'd wear heels," Cora tried again, sidetracked by Edith's mentioning of footwear.

"They're impractical," Edith explained gently, finding infinite patience in the glittering blue eyes watching her with a teasing sort of humor. "Besides, I rather like that I'm so much shorter than Anthony."

"How odd," Cora giggled.

"Yes. Odd. Anyway, Mama. I'll be there soon enough, but for now I've got to pack, alright?"

"Of course, Edith. See you soon."

Edith tossed the phone into the chair across the room and covered her face with her hands. "I know we agreed that this was the best thing for the family and for us, but it's not me Anthony, and I know it's not you. I just want to be your wife without dancing and cake and linens and chargers and bouquets. And Mama means well, but she's driving me crazy. Oh, and when I think of all those people they've invited watching us exchange our vows, Anthony I just hate it."

When Edith opened her eyes again, Anthony's expression was strange—bright and humorous and rather self-satisfied. "What are you hiding?" Edith demanded. Still sitting in his lap, she leaned up and held his shoulders, trying to establish a sort of bullying dominance. He was naturally unresponsive.

"Let's both get dressed, pack your bag, and then maybe you'll find out."

"Will you drive me to brunch?" Edith asked.

"Yes, but only if you let me put on pants and perhaps even a shirt. And maybe I'll have a quick scrub, if you don't mind," he answered, patting her bum lightly so she might let him up.

"Fine," Edith said, flopping onto the bed in exasperation. "But hurry or I'll be forced to join you in the shower."

"That sounds awful," Anthony said with mock disgust as he moved into the closet. He reemerged almost immediately with a towel and a stack of clothes in his hand. Edith watched him cross the room as he headed for the shower.

"Fifteen minutes, my darling Edith. Then we'll go."

"This is not where we're supposed to be meeting Anna," Edith said firmly, peering out the window of the car at a busy street in Ripon.

"Are you sure?" Anthony asked in feigned confusion.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Edith demanded, folding her arms over her chest. "You look awfully pleased with yourself, Dr. Strallan."

Anthony lips twitched into the crooked smile that indicated both pleasure and humility. "Edith," he began, shifting to face her more directly. "If you had it your way, we'd have been married just the two of us, a couple witnesses, on a weekday, am I right?"

"Yes," she said quietly, looking down at her hands and trying not to be disappointed. "I just don't see the point of all the fuss. And I would rather share personal vows, but I'm not willing to do that in front of a crowd of strangers, and frankly I'd rather not have to wear some uncomfortable evening gown to do it. I just want to be married to you."

"Right, that's the answer I was looking for," Anthony said quickly as he clapped his hands together and jumped out of the car. Edith was startled by the sudden change in his demeanor. She barely reacted as he moved to her side of the car and opened the door. "Come, love," he said, "follow me."

"Anthony," Edith said slowly, almost as a warning. "What are we doing in Ripon?"

Anthony smiled sweetly as he pulled her, in silence, down the sidewalk and to a small row house office with a black door.

Inside, to Edith's shock, were Anna and Gertrude, both smiling expectantly.

"What are you two doing here?" Edith asked, kissing both of them hello.

"They're our witnesses," Anthony said close to her ear.

And suddenly everything made sense. Edith's eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped.

"Look, darling, I know this is how you wanted to do it in the first place, and I know how anxious you are about tomorrow's ceremonies. So I thought we could have the best of both worlds. You and I will be married today, the way you prefer, with personal vows and an exorbitant amount of food and champagne to follow, and then tomorrow we'll have a wedding for your mother and family, and they'll be none the wiser. What do you say?" Anthony made his case as though there was a chance Edith might say no, or be otherwise upset. But the tears that threatened were not of alarm. On the contrary, in that moment Edith knew more than ever that Anthony was the single sweetest and most caring man to have ever walked the earth.

"Y-yes, yes," Edith whispered, her voice cracking as she swallowed her tears. She nodded quickly, taking Anthony's hand in hers. With a burst of teary laughter she said more clearly, "Yes, please, I want to get married today. Now."

"Well that's good. I didn't come all this way to watch it from the hard pew of some dark church," Gertrude quipped, though she ran a hand along Edith's cheek with maternal affection.

"It's good to finally meet you, Dr. Strallan," Anna said quietly, a shy grin stretching across her face as she and Anthony shook hands.

"Oh god, I haven't introduced you," Edith said suddenly, still wiping tears from her cheeks.

"We've talked on the phone quite a bit," Anna said with a conspiratorial nod.

"Indeed. And how is little Jack?" Anthony asked, kissing Anna on the cheek.

"Giant for a one-month-old, and hopefully giving his Papa lots of trouble while I'm away."

"Oh, Anna," Edith heaved, throwing her arms around her dear friend.

"Right, let's get this going before the poor thing has a fit," Gertrude teased.

"Shall we?" Anthony whispered, offering Edith his arm. With a nod she took it, and all stepped into the door to the left with the gold plate that read _Register_.

"I promise, here in front of the two people dearest to us, that I love you, and will continue to love you fiercely. And sweetly. And passionately. And completely. For the rest of our lives," Anthony said simply.

"You are my best friend, and my champion, and my heartbeat, and I promise to never forget what we are, or how I feel in this moment. I will love you, like this, always," Edith replied, though her voice trembled slightly.

"Have you rings?" the official asked.

"Oh, us, yeah," Gertie and Anna both jumped. Anna handed Edith a man's band, simple and made of white gold. Gertie pressed a sparkling little band into Anthony's palm.

"You have been busy," Edith whispered.

"You have to give it back when we're done for tomorrow," Anthony laughed.

As they slid the rings onto each other's fingers, the official rambled off the required words, though Edith and Anthony barely heard them. They were waiting for "husband and wife" and when the official finally said it, they both grinned like idiots.

"Kiss her, mate," the man urged, more out of efficiency than earnest.

So Anthony leaned down, wrapped his arms around Edith's waist, and lifted her off her feet into their first kiss as the Strallans. Edith and Anthony had kissed many times before. They had expressed their love in every physical, verbal, emotional, and demonstrative way imaginable. But still, something about this kiss was different, special, transcendental.

"Congratulations!" Anna and Gertie cheered as Anthony and Edith reluctantly parted.

They signed the paper, as did Gertrude and Anna. The register signed, dated, and notarized it, and handed the significant little slip to them in a manila folder. And that was it. Eight months after their first meeting, which felt like eight years, Edith and Anthony were one in the eyes of the law. Such a silly thing to need, Edith thought, but need it they did.

"Now," Gertie said, wiping some tears from her eyes with a slight shade of embarrassment. "I believe Anna and I were promised a meal for our troubles?"

"Oh god, Gertie, I'd buy you a goldmine if you asked right now."

"Let's start with some champagne and take it from there," she suggested, leading the way outside.

Brunch lasted far longer than the four of them had expected. With so much happiness and ease and contentment, it was easy to let time slip away. Anna was the first to pry herself from the table. "Poor John's down to two ounces," she said to Edith after checking her mobile. "Poor man is in for it if I don't get back. But I'll see you tomorrow, beautiful bride." Turning to Anthony she said, "Thank you for making my Edie so happy, and for letting me be a part of it," which made him give that shy grin Edith adored.

It was nearly dark by the time Anthony pulled his trusty jag to a stop in the circular drive before Crawley House.

"Do I really have to spend our wedding night alone in my childhood bed?" Edith groaned as they held hands and prepared to say goodbye.

"This isn't our wedding night. The wedding is tomorrow, we just got married today."

"Yes, we did," Edith beamed serenely. She leaned across the console to kiss him properly, practically climbing into his lap as she did so. His hands traveled to her waist as she worked her tongue across his. She felt the familiar warmth growing in her stomach, but Anthony groaned.

"Edith," Anthony said firmly, "This will have to wait until tomorrow."

"The suspense is terrible. I hope it will last," she said seductively, still trying to nibble on his ear.

"Even quoting Wilde won't get you a win this time, love," he chuckled, catching her by the wrist as she slid her hand up his thigh.

"You are stubborn," she sighed, dropping back into her own seat. "Alright, take me in and hand me off to my mother and I will see you tomorrow at one o'clock sharp."

Anthony cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'll need just a minute, erm, Edith."

She glanced down and laughed lightly, looking away so she might not embarrass him. "You only have yourself to blame for that."

"That's a boldfaced lie and you know it," he teased.

"Are you sure you wish to marry a known liar?"

"Too late now, wife," he said softly, bringing her hand to his lips.

"Indeed it is, husband."


	21. Confidence and Confidants

A/N: M rating for the following. :)

* * *

Edith had been prepared to be restless and on edge all evening, but after Anthony's surprise, she found herself quite unshakeable. While Cora's artist-eye analyzed and critiqued every angle of Edith's wedding dress, Edith looked in the mirror at the serenely happy woman she saw in it. And she was a _woman_, with large eyes and creamy skin and a soft flush in her cheeks. Edith was seeing herself as Anthony saw her, and for the first time in her life she felt beautiful.

"Alright, Mrs. Hughes, just the hem I think should do it. Less half an inch. Do you mind?" Cora asked.

"Oh, I think I should be able to manage a hem," Mrs. Hughes said gently as Cora flitted out of the room. "She's never happier than when she has a project," Mrs. Hughes laughed, starting on the row of buttons down Edith's back.

"I'm just glad to see some of her former self return," Edith muttered, taking the combs from her hair.

"You and your Dr. Strallan are very sweet to let her do this. I know it's not your way, dearie, but you've a big heart for going along with it."

"Anthony is a saint, and I mean that seriously. I don't know how anyone can be so good. But he makes me better too, I suppose."

"You do seem quite at ease. I imagine he has something to do with that, yes."

"Elsie," Edith said quietly, causing the older woman to look up. Their eyes met in the mirror. "If I tell you something do you promise not to say a word?"

"Have you ever known me to tell a secret?"

The dreamy grin Edith had been fighting all evening grew as Mrs. Hughes waited patiently. "Anthony and I were married this morning, by the register. We're going through with tomorrow of course, but _our_ wedding, the one we really wanted, happened this morning. It was his gift to me, he said. And it was perfect."

Mrs. Hughes smiled and pulled Edith's hair through her hands affectionately. "Oh, dearie, I'm so glad. I was a little sad for you, to be honest, being put through this circus."

"Really?"

Mrs. Hughes patted Edith's shoulder before getting back to the buttons. "When your older sister was married, she was absolutely euphoric about every extravagant detail. Nothing was too grand. She's always been that way, and I was happy to see her happy. But you, my dear little rabbit, you have always needed the earth and the sky and things that are real and lasting to be happy. And your Dr. Strallan is as real as they come. So yes, I'm glad that you had _your_ wedding, the way you wanted it, and I am also glad that you're both still willing to do this for your family."

Reaching the last button at the small of Edith's back, Mrs. Hughes helped Edith slip out of it before draping it delicately over her arm.

"That's the most understanding thing anyone in this house has ever said to me," Edith muttered.

Mrs. Hughes sighed as she picked up the bottom of the dress, careful of the pins. "Edith, I never worried that you would marry the wrong sort of person, only that you wouldn't find someone worthy. Now you've done it. Stop worrying and let the others fall into place."

"I love you, Elsie Hughes."

"That's the mood of the wedding talking, rabbit. Now go take a bath, relax, and get to bed. This time tomorrow you'll be free of the whole business."

"This time tomorrow that dress you're taking such care of will be in pieces on the floor."

"Well," Mrs. Hughes said, completely unaffected by Edith's forwardness, "I tried to talk your mother into a zipper and she wouldn't hear it. Hopefully Dr. Strallan is good with his hands."

"Oh he is," Edith giggled.

"Glad to hear it. Now run along, make it an early night," Mrs. Hughes directed calmly as she made her way to the door.

"Will I never get a rise out of you?"

"After twenty-five years with this family?" was her response before the door clicked shut behind her.

Edith Strallan, as she was a Strallan now, stretched out in the deep tub, sinking down so that her chin rested just above the water. Her i-Pod was playing Debussy, Tchaikovsky, Chopin, and other piano classics. Pulling her left hand from the soapy water, Edith examined the ring on it and smiled. _Sometimes it strikes me you chose me as well_, she thought to herself, closing her eyes.

As her mind wandered over the day's activities, and what was to come tomorrow, Edith couldn't help but feel a little pang of longing for Anthony. If he were there at that moment, he'd probably be in the tub with her. Edith could imagine the feel of lying against his chest instead of the porcelain tub, of his long legs stretching out on either side of her, his hands lacing through hers beneath the heat of the bath.

"Edith, I've taken your keys to give to Matthew," Mary said, interrupting Edith's rather pleasant reverie.

"What?" Edith shrilled. She sat up quickly, curling to try and cover herself.

"Oh please," Mary mumbled, sitting in the chair at the vanity. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Why have you taken my keys?"

"Matthew and Tom are kidnapping Anthony for a stag night. Their idea, not mine." Seeming to register the worry on Edith's face, Mary rolled her eyes. "Not to worry, they're just going to the Arms for a pint. Mr. Carson will keep an eye on them, I'm sure."

Edith nodded and relaxed a little, feeling strange about her sister's lingering presence. If Sybil had wanted to talk while Edith was in the bath nothing would be uncomfortable, but with Mary it was different. Both sisters sat in silence, unsure of what to say next.

"It's a pretty ring," Mary offered, though Edith took her tone as condescending more than kind.

Edith looked down to where her left hand gripped the side of the tub. The ring had a thin, white-gold band with a braided knot pattern and a modest diamond in the center. "Yes, it is. It was Joan's. Gertrude wanted Anthony and me to have it."

"Who's Joan?" Mary asked, confirming how little she knew of Edith or Anthony.

"Anthony's sister-in-law," Edith said. Mary arched one eyebrow as if Edith had said something haughty and looked away. After a few moments she tried again.

"Thank you for letting Mama do the wedding."

"I don't mind. The only thing that matters is being with Anthony. I almost lost him once. Or rather, I did lose him, but I got him back. I don't care how we're married so long as we are."

"Lost him?"

Edith hesitated for half a second. She and Mary had never been eager to confide in one another. But then, with resignation and a deep ache, Edith realized Mary was the only sister she had. "The day after Christmas, Anthony decided I should do better than to love him, and he disappeared for a while."

"That's why you came home?"

"Eventually, yes, it was why I came back. Though it sounds a little pathetic to say it out loud. Anyway, we worked it out," Edith said with a shrug.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?"

Edith shrugged. "I've been ready to marry Anthony for a very long time. If you mean, am I ready for the whole gown and pictures and speeches thing, I guess I'm ready as I'll ever be."

"I loved every minute of my wedding."

"Yes, well, you're used to all eyes being on you. I'm not so familiar with everyone watching me."

Mary shook her head in awe. "You're so lucky," she sighed. "You always have been, you know."

Edith couldn't help the burst of disbelieving laughter that escaped her. "Are you kidding? You and Sybil got the beauty and the charm and the social prowess, and all I got was a biting sarcasm and the uncanny ability to blend into the wallpaper."

Mary shook her head. "No. You don't understand. You've never needed anyone to tell you who you are or what you're worth. Maybe you haven't had the attention I did, but I've spent my life working for approval while you've never needed it. And I've been so busy trying to be pleasing, I don't even know what I want any more. I can't even tell you what my favorite jam is. I went and married the man of _Papa's_ dreams and now I can't even say definitively that I love him."

Edith's jaw fell a bit at Mary's confession and her casual tone. "You don't know if you love Matthew? But, but you're Mary and Matthew," Edith stammered in confusion. It was new territory, being confidants with Mary, and there was something so fundamental about Mary and Matthew. It was just too much to comprehend.

"Everyone was so certain Matthew and I would be married, you know? Since we were children, we've known. Only we were so used to hearing that we _would_ we didn't stop to think if we _should_. It was just accepted as fact."

"I'm sorry," Edith said softly, unsure of what to say.

Mary folded her arms over her lap as she leaned forward. "Did Anthony tell you? What I said to him Christmas morning?"

"Yes," Edith said quickly. "Will you hand me my robe please?"

Mary held the terrycloth robe open while Edith stepped out of the tub. "It was awful, what I said. I knew it was. I could see it in his expression."

"Why are you telling me this?" Edith asked, a lifetime of familiar hurt and anger and resentment rising in her cheeks as she cinched the belt of the robe around her waist.

"Because Edith," Mary said, dropping her head to one side, "I'm trying to apologize."

"That'd be a first," Edith snapped, immediately regretting the bite in her voice.

Mary's arms were pinned stiffly to her sides in a gesture Edith recognized as true discomfort. "I suppose that's fair. I know we've never been friends, Edith, but I want to try. Will you listen, please?"

Edith didn't say anything, but sighed and walked into her bedroom. They sat together on the bed, silent for a long time, so much new territory being laid at once. They were shy, unsure, both rather in shock.

"Christmas morning," Mary began, staring at the floor, "Matthew and I fought horribly."

"What about?"

"The same thing we've been fighting about for years. He wants children, and I'm not sure that I do. It was always understood that we would one day, so he feels like I'm breaking our deal."

"You don't want children?" Edith asked, though she wasn't really surprised. Mary was not a particularly maternal person.

"I don't know. I feel like we're both so young still. We've only been married a year, and Matthew's only just turned thirty. But he doesn't trust me, and he's so angry and hurt," Mary rambled, some of her cool façade breaking away.

"What happened?" Edith asked. The look Mary gave her was strange—grave, and warning, but undeniably miserable, and even guilty. "You can tell me, Mary, I promise."

"I got pregnant a few years ago, and I panicked because we'd only just moved in together and I felt like a child myself. And I was stupid, and selfish. So I…ended it. Without telling Matthew first."

Edith made a conscious effort to keep her face calm, but she was admittedly shocked. Not at the act, but at Mary's ability to keep it a secret. And all at once that beautiful, flawless face made Edith's heart hurt. "Oh Mary," she managed, sliding a tentative hand over her sister's.

"Do you think I'm hideous?" Mary asked, her voice small.

Edith shook her head vehemently. "No, Mary. No, you were scared, and young. Of course I understand. And so will Matthew, in time. You'll see."

"I wish I could be so certain," Mary said with a wry, sad smile. They were quiet again for a while before Mary shivered and stood up abruptly. "At any rate, I'm sorry that Anthony got caught up in the whole mess. I was terribly unfair, and I'm glad I wasn't able to ruin it for you. And I mean that sincerely."

"Mary," Edith pleaded, following as Mary hurried toward the door, but Mary cut her short.

"No, now is not the time to hash this out. It's the eve of your wedding. You need to rest or you'll be even puffier than usual tomorrow," Mary said with a cold smile. The little jibe, which may have stung in the past, meant nothing to Edith, showing only that Mary was scared and hurting. And suddenly, every awful thing her sister had ever said made sense, and Edith felt all the old resentment wash away.

"Thank you, Mary. I appreciate your apology and I'm so, so glad you told me. After tomorrow, well let's have lunch or something sometime soon."

Mary nodded stiffly, awkwardly, as she left, shutting the door behind her.

Hours later Edith was lying in the middle of her bed, staring at the gauzy canopy and trying to turn her mind off. Mary's confession unraveled a lifetime of assumptions and washed away the comfortable and familiar antipathy between them. Knowing what she felt about Anthony, what they had, Edith's heart broke all over for her poor, uncertain sister. Never in her life did Edith imagine she would feel sorry for Mary Crawley, but she did. And for sweet and unassuming Matthew.

Her mind was reeling and she felt uneasy. With a heavy sigh, Edith rolled over and pulled out her mobile, finally giving in to the one urge she'd had all night.

_I need you, please. Can you come?_ she texted Anthony. His response was almost immediate.

_On my way, sweet one._

_I'll unlock the front door. Do try to be quiet, Papa is an expert shot._

_Dually noted._

Not twenty minutes later Anthony was rapping lightly on Edith's bedroom door as he stuck his head in. "It's after two in the morning, darling, isn't this bad luck? To see the bride before the wedding?"

"We're already married, I don't think it counts," she said quickly, rushing toward him and burying her face in his chest.

"What's this? Too late for cold feet now," he whispered, kissing her hair.

"It's not that, you idiot. You're about the one thing on earth I'm absolutely sure of all the time. I just... needed you." Looking up, Edith caught the light humor in Anthony's expression. "It seems silly now, doesn't it?"

"No, my dearest, it does not. Are you alright?"

"I am now," she sighed, pulling him toward the bed. "And how was your stag night?"

"I hope you don't mind, I've left two very intoxicated young men sleeping in our drawing room. Poor chaps thought they were going to drink me under the table."

Edith nodded sympathetically as she began pulling Anthony's sweater over his head.

"Is this in bad taste?" he asked, teasing her as he played with the collar of her robe.

"A couple enjoying their sacred marital rights? I shouldn't think so," she replied, going to work on the buttons of his shirt.

Anthony peeked conspicuously down the front of Edith's robe. "Darling," he gasped in feigned shock, "You're not wearing anything under this."

"Are you scandalized?" she asked, pushing his shirt from his shoulders and kissing his bare chest.

"Quite," he whispered hoarsely, picking her up easily by her ribs and laying her on the bed. As he hovered over her, slowly pulling the knot from her belt, Edith watched him in wonder. There was such a masculinity about him when they were like this, a force and a strength that were more concealed in public. It reminded her of his durability, of his resilience.

"Anthony," she said, catching his attention as he pulled open the robe, exposing her naked body beneath him.

"Yes, my love?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

"I'm always going to need you. Like this, and in so many ways."

"I'll always be there," he answered sincerely.

"I'll never lie to you, and I'll never keep anything from you, and I will always, always trust you."

"I'll never give you cause to feel otherwise."

"And we'll do everything together, good, or bad, or easy, or difficult, we'll face it together."

"Side by side, my darling, always."

If Anthony was puzzled by Edith's sudden need to confirm what they both already knew, he didn't show it. And he seemed so sure in his answers that Edith had no cause to doubt him, or their marriage.

"I can't believe my luck sometimes," she said, finally smiling. "You're not perfect, but you're perfect for me in literally every way. What if we never found each other?"

"Not possible," he affirmed as Edith reached down to undo his belt and trousers.

"No? You don't think so?"

"No," he said, kissing her collarbone and neck. "No, I think we found each other in this lifetime just as we did in the last, and as we'll do in the next."

"You and me, always," she repeated, catching his face and kissing him softly.

"Now, I believe you had started something before the line of questioning," Anthony teased, frowning. Edith giggled as his right hand traveled from her clavicle, down her sternum, over her stomach, and settled in the exact place she hoped it would.

"What?" she asked with a shaky sort of laugh as Anthony frowned.

"Here I was, ready to do all sorts of dutifully naughty things, and you're already ready for me."

"Anthony, darling, don't take this the wrong way. I mean, I hate to be loutish, but I'm pretty much 'ready' for you any time you walk into a room," Edith said frankly, a slight laugh in her voice.

"Really?" Anthony asked. Judging by his expression they could have been discussing literary theory, but his fingers had slipped inside her, as if he were challenging her assertion.

"Oh, but don't let that stop you," she huffed, kissing him deeply, and earnestly.

But Anthony pulled away, slipping off his boxers and scooting Edith further up the bed so he could kneel between her legs. He leaned down, kissing her sweetly, and Edith wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him in place for a moment.

Normally she would never be so bold, but there was something about the spirit of tonight, of knowing nothing could ever pass between them that would taint their relationship, that gave her a certain courage.

"Anthony," she whispered into is hear, kissing his earlobe before continuing, "I hate to be demanding, my darling, but I want you inside me."

Anthony seemed to know inherently that this was a night to savor, to go slowly and deliberately, and so he did. They moved together, letting the anticipation build, making the moment last, watching each other. His hands found hers, pinning them on either side of her pillow. When either of them came close, he would slow down, drawing out the beauty of their togetherness. Finally, at Edith's insistence and his own crumbling will, they finished together.

Despite the late hour, Edith and Anthony did not fall asleep right away. Instead, they laid together beneath the linens, talking and laughing and making little predictions about the day to follow, until Edith's voice grew into little more than a murmur, and her breathing slowed, and her arm fell heavy across his chest.

* * *

A/N: Oh, my dear readers, thank you as always for continuing with me, and for your lovely, lovely reivews. They're truly SO appreciated. Sorry for the length between updates. The next installment will be up shortly, I promise.

Always,  
Eleanor


	22. Anthony Strallan's Wedding

Anthony left at the first sign of dawn with a drowsy kiss from his half-sleeping Edith. "See you in a few hours," he whispered, sweater slung over his arm, hair mussed. He leaned down to kiss her goodbye and as she muttered an "okay, love you" he pulled the soft bedding around her bare shoulders.

Anthony had taken a cab to Crawley house the night before, knowing his two companions were utterly incapacitated and he'd had quite a few himself. Now he was rather glad for it as he slipped out the front door and into the early morning fog. A long walk home was the perfect thing for this particular morning.

It was warm, even for May, and the deep pinks and golds of the sunrise indicated a flawless day ahead. As he had done every five minutes for the past week, Anthony patted his left pocket, feeling two metal bands inside. Just symbols really, because of course they were already married, but important ones nonetheless. He sighed, relieved they were still in place.

Anthony took his time getting home, cutting through the fields he'd known in his youth. He felt like a boy again, or a younger man at least, as he hopped stones across the shallow end of Knob Creek. Edith had made him young again, he knew, and would continue to do so. Not out of duty or some intentional act, but by the sheer magnitude of how Anthony loved her.

The sun had well cleared the trees by the time Anthony reached the drive at Locksley. It was such a familiar stretch of gravel, the old oaks slightly wider perhaps but altogether unchanging. Except everything had changed, and for the first time that Anthony could remember, he didn't feel dread or anxiety as he moved down the drive. Because of Edith, his wife, all he felt was vibrant, at peace, exultant.

Like much of the information he'd obtained about Edith, Anthony couldn't remember how exactly he'd come to know she played the piano, only that she did and that she quite enjoyed it. Now, as he eyed the grand piano, delivered to the drawing yesterday afternoon room as a surprise for her, he smiled in anticipation of her reaction.

Cocking his head just slightly, he also smiled in amusement at Matthew, who was currently passed out beneath it with a throw pillow, still wearing his jacket and shoes. Tom was nearby, sprawled over a small sofa, arms folded across himself and a deep frown on his heavily sleeping face. _Poor chaps_, Anthony mused. They thought they were going to get him good and boozed and he'd well outlasted them both.

After a long shower and a close, careful shave Anthony felt quite at ease. His suit was still in the bag from the laundry, pressed and waiting. Knowing he still had hours before he had to be at Downton Church, Anthony threw on some trousers and sat down at the writing desk in his library. _My Dearest Wife_, he began, planning the exact moment he would slip the letter to her.

He and Edith had made a conscious decision, one of the few they insisted on, not to have a bridal party. Edith couldn't have Anna as bridesmaid without awkwardness with Mary, and Cora wouldn't have approved of Gertrude being Anthony's best man. Still, as Anthony looked at the two younger gentlemen who had become his friends, he figured they were the closest things to groomsmen he was going to get.

He coughed loudly. "Hup to, gentlemen. I'm getting married in a few hours and you two might be missed if you're here sleeping it off."

Tom sat up slowly with a deep, guttural groan. "Good lord, what day is it?" he moaned.

"What month is it?" Matthew replied, his voice hoarse. Apparently Matthew didn't realize where he'd landed. He sat up too quickly, smacking his head on the piano.

"Right, ship shape?" Anthony asked brightly. When he received death stares from both young men he chuckled. "Coffee's on in the kitchen, lads, and my obliging housekeeper, Mrs. Ross, is making breakfast. Cora's just called and Robert's on his way with your suits and whatnot. We four are to get ready here and then go over to the church together."

"That should be fun for all," Tom said sardonically, pinching his eyes as if that might rid him of his hangover.

"What time is it?" Matthew asked, standing tentatively and bracing himself on the piano.

"Nearly eleven," Anthony replied. "Cora says we're to be at the church by 12:30."

Both men groaned, clearly regretting the previous night's activities. "How in the hell are you so chipper?" Tom teased, stretching his arms with a yawn. "You had just as much as us."

"Practice," Anthony replied with a shrug and a crooked smile. "Old age has its benefits. Now, how do eggs and rashers sound?"

"Anthony, forget Edith, for eggs and rashers I'd marry you this instant," Matthew joked, slapping Anthony's shoulder as he led them to the kitchen.

Robert was dropped off, bringing garment bags of suits and shoes, a box of boutonnières. Tom and Matthew were fed and showered, and looking passable if not a little worse for wear as the four men headed to the church. There was no use denying it was uncomfortable, Robert and Anthony in silence in the front seats, Matthew and Tom sharing sideways glances in the back.

"Tom will drive your car to Downton following the ceremony," Robert said, clearly repeating Cora's instructions. "You'll be in the old Rolls with Edith, of course. But that way you'll have it to get home in after."

"Very good," Anthony replied with a tentative smile. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Cora did all the planning," Robert griped, staring out the window.

"Funny to think in a little over an hour we'll all be family," Matthew offered. Tom laughed at his clueless optimism and Anthony, while appreciating the effort, saw only Robert's grimace.

Father Travis met them at the great doors to the chapel. "Right, Anthony, if you'll follow me. I believe you gentlemen will be escorting Cora and Mary to their seats," the old man said to Tom and Matthew. "And you, Robert, will wait here to give your daughter away."

In that moment Robert's eyes met Anthony's and something unspoken passed between them. Anthony didn't see any hint of affection, only resignation and an agreement to disagree. A truce, really, as the whole thing was already decided. Anthony opened his mouth to say something, anything, like "thank you," or "I'm sorry," but Robert simply sighed and shook his head and muttered, "I'll see you in there. My wife and daughters should be arriving any time now."

If it had been up to Anthony and Edith, the Church would have no role in their wedding. But, as Cora had explained time and again, every Crawley for the last two hundred years had been married in this church, and Edith was "not so special as to be the exception." When Edith pointed out that Sybil had been married in Dublin, Cora simply shrugged and walked away.

Anthony smiled to himself, knowing that his Edith had indeed been the exception. Not only had they not been married in a church, but Edith was without a doubt the most exceptional woman he'd had the privilege of knowing. And if the Crawley's weren't privy to that, it was their loss.

"I said," Father Travis rasped, apparently repeating himself, "I christened young Edith right here some twenty-odd years ago. Strange to see her doing something as grown-up as getting married."

Anthony looked over his shoulder at the white-haired gentlemen and wasn't at all surprised to meet an appraising expression that quickly faded into disapproval. He'd have to get used to it, Anthony supposed—the raised eyebrows and pressed lips and questioning stares, the embarrassment of being asked if she was his daughter, which had happened twice since returning to Grantham Village. Still, it was a small price to have Edith on his arm.

"Life is funny that way," Anthony said vaguely, turning back to the growing number of guests. He recognized roughly one in twelve so far and suspected Edith would know even fewer. When Gertrude came bustling in, he took a deep sigh of relief.

"Hello, brother. You look very dapper indeed," she smiled, straightening his light gray tie and the yellow rose in his lapel.

"Christ I'm glad you're here," he muttered, ignoring Travis' disapproving cough at the cursing. "I could have used you this morning too."

"You know I can't stay in that house without going mad. Anyway, I was with Edith."

"You were?"

"She's outside, and she looks radiant," Gertrude whispered, sending a little thrill through Anthony. "It's a wonder you haven't worn out your mattress yet. Or have you?" she teased. Father Travis let out an odd little whimper of disapproval and patted his bible nervously, causing both Strallans to look at him and then to each other again.

"Gertie, I can always count on you to make things properly embarrassed," Anthony half scolded. Gertie only laughed, and even Anthony couldn't pretend to be mad.

He was almost giddy now, eager to see his Edith. It wasn't that Anthony was particularly impatient to see her in a fancy gown with her hair and makeup all done up, though he certainly wouldn't mind. It was more that they had spent the whole morning apart and every hour felt an eternity too long. He just wanted to see her face, touch her hand, smell her hair.

Suddenly the doors opened, flooding the small stone church with light and the warm smell of spring. In the corner a violin and a guitar strummed out a lilting version of the very traditional Canon in D. The congregation stood, and faced the white light of the entrance. Cora and Matthew came first, then Tom and Mary.

And finally, after what seemed to Anthony a long and anxious lifetime, Edith stepped over the threshold of the church with Robert. Her head was ducked at first, and Anthony knew inherently that she was uncomfortable about all the faces staring at her. Anthony thought his heart my stop altogether of pride.

His Edith was wearing a modest gown in a simple, fitted silhouette that hugged her tiny waist and fell gracefully from her hips. The neckline was somewhat revealing, but covered with sheer lace that cut straight across the elegant line of her collarbone and covered her shoulders. Her light hair was pinned back loosely at the nape of her neck, and she wore the string of pearls he had given her. Shrouded in a long, thin veil of a clean, sheer fabric, he could still see the flush in her cheeks when she eventually looked up.

As their eyes met Edith's smile changed, ever so slightly, from uneasy to absolutely beaming. Perhaps no one else would have noticed the difference, but Anthony saw it and was glad for the change. All at once Anthony was stricken with realization. It was real, Edith was his bride, and they were married. It took the ridiculous circus of the wedding to feel the gravity and reality of the whole thing. As Edith's small, pale hand reached out for his, Anthony noted that he owed Cora a rather profound thanks.

Robert kissed Edith's other hand as the music slowed to a stop, patted it, and let go, nodding stiffly at Anthony before taking his seat.

"Good afternoon," Edith whispered as they turned to face Travis.

"Hello my sweet one," Anthony replied. Travis cleared his throat pointedly, and began.

They exchanged their vows, repeating the same words countless others had over the years, following Travis as they were instructed. But as Edith and Anthony stood there, holding hands, Anthony's thumb stroking her palm, it didn't matter that a hundred strangers were watching, or that it wasn't at all what they had planned. It was just Edith and Anthony, making the same promises to each other they had made a thousand times over, in a million different ways, over the last eight months. And just because the words were not their own, Anthony realized, didn't make them any less true.

"Man and wife," Travis announced. Anthony ignored the slight tone of resignation in the old man's voice as he gently lifted Edith's veil from her face and stepped toward her. Cupping her jaw in his hand, Anthony leaned down and kissed his wife softly and chastely on her trembling lips. As the guests took a collective breath and began to applaud, Anthony picked Edith up by her waist, hugging her close.

"That wasn't so hard," he whispered with a laugh.

"No," she answered, kissing his cheek and then his ear. "No, we're actually getting quite good at it. Maybe tomorrow we can go for a third time and really become experts."

Anthony laughed heartily at her joke as she pulled back to look at him. Tears were brimming in her eyes, he noticed. He failed to recognize his own tears until she wiped them from his cheeks with a sympathetic little laugh.

"I love you dearly," she said.

"I love you back," Anthony managed before Travis was there, urging them down the aisle again.

The reception party was at Downton Abbey, in the yard. So chosen, Cora had said, to accommodate the unpredictable spring weather. If it had rained all guests could be ushered inside without issue. But it was a perfect day, and was well on its way to being a perfect evening as the antique Rolls Royce pulled into the great circular drive.

"This is the only time we're going to have to ourselves all night, isn't it?" Edith sighed, peering up at the looming house.

"Until we go home, yes, I believe it will be."

"Hey," she chirped brightly, turning back to Anthony and lacing her arms around his neck. "Did we have a bet about Granny trying to talk to me about 'marital relations'? Because that happened while Mrs. Hughes was doing my hair."

"I don't remember," Anthony replied, "But we did have an over/under going on how long it would take Gertrude to say something intentionally irreverent, right? It took her all of two minutes to shock Mr. Travis into extra prayers."

Edith laughed, burying her face into Anthony's neck. "I think you win that one, then. But I get a point for not tripping down the aisle. I also get a point for not being the first to cry."

"I didn't cry," Anthony argued, one hand rubbing her shoulders as the other cupped her knee.

"Don't be a poor sport. Maybe we'll even up the score during toast time," Edith smiled.

"We forgot to make a wager."

"I'll come up with something when I win."

"Noted," Anthony laughed quietly.

They were quiet for a while, enjoying being close without interruption or scrutiny while they could.

"I'm not going to kiss you, because I won't be able to stop and we still have to do photos," Edith said suddenly.

"Who says I want to kiss you anyway?"

Edith sat up, eyebrow arched, ready to spar with her husband, when she saw Cora coming from the house. "Looks like our time is up," she pouted sadly.

"One night won't kill us. Then we can run away and be as reclusive as you like," Anthony assured, taking Edith by the hand and stepping out of the car. "Come, Greta, your public awaits."

As they made their way to the great tent in the back, alit with white lights and paper lanterns and candles, Edith squeezed Anthony's hand. "Entrance, dinner, dance, cake, toasts, home," she listed.

"Is that the official schedule?"

"If I say it often enough perhaps we can breeze through and be out of here in an hour."

"Wishful thinking," Anthony said regretfully.

"I am very much looking forward to our dance, actually," Edith mused optimistically.

"Well let's hurry through the dinner part, shall we?"

"Yes, because the dance" Edith began, but Anthony couldn't hear the rest of what she said. They were cut off by poppers and cheers and applause as they entered the dim gold light of the tent. The guests were all arranged around round tables dressed with glass votives and cream linens and great bouquets of yellow roses, white peonies, and gray hydrangeas. In the back Anthony could see a bar and a large cake with coordinating sugar flowers.

Edith had picked the colors, Anthony knew, and beyond that cora had made all the decisions. While opulence was not his style, he couldn't help but be pleased as he looked around at the general glowing splendor.

Edith had insisted on choosing the music for the reception, and on keeping it a secret from Anthony. She had insisted it be a surprise, and while Anthony openly doubted her ability to keep a secret, this time he really didn't know. Dinner having been served and cleared, with their guests seated at the tables around the parquet floor, Edith and Anthony stood reluctantly alone in the middle. With his right hand on the small of his wife's back and his left clasped with hers, Anthony pulled Edith close and waited for the music to begin.

Of the many songs Edith had often declared "theirs," Anthony expected her to choose either _September Song_, _Oh My Love_ by John Lennon, or _Into the Mystic_ by Van Morrison. The song that began playing puzzled him somewhat.

_Day is ending, birds are wending back to the shelter of each little nest they love._

"Good lord," Anthony said as the music carried on, running his hand along her back, "How many damned buttons does this dress have exactly?"

"Not to worry, I've already warned Mrs. Hughes that it will need a great deal of mending by the time we're through tonight."

"That's my prudent and enterprising wife," he laughed approvingly.

_When whippoorwills call and evening is nigh, I hurry to my blue heaven._

"Do you like it?" Edith asked. "The song I mean? It's the original, Gene Austin. I thought it was fitting."

"Because we're so old fashioned, Lady Edith?" Anthony teased as they moved in time with the breezy music. The recording from the 20's crackled romantically as if it were still coming from a gramophone.

"Among other things," Edith said with a queer little grin. As the chorus came up she pulled Anthony's face close so she might press her cheek to his and began to hum along.

_I'll see a smiling face, a fireplace, a cozy room, a little nest that nestles where the roses bloom_.

Then, cooing softly into Anthony's ear, Edith sang aloud the next bit, "_Just Edith and me, little baby makes three, we're happy in my blue heaven._"

Anthony was a very intelligent man, who generally processed things swiftly and thoroughly, and was almost never without something relevant to say. But as Edith pulled away from him a little, a knowing smile peeking through as she chewed on her lip questioningly, Anthony was quite speechless. He felt his posture stiffen slightly, and his eyes widen, and for half a second Edith had to take the lead to keep them moving.

"I suppose," she explained, blushing and looking down as they moved in time across the floor, "the way we've been behaving these last six weeks it should come as no surprise. Do you suppose anyone will wonder how we spent our engagement seven or eight months from now?"

Anthony's mind was beginning to gear up again as he pulled Edith closer to him.

"Please say something," she whispered, looking up at him with a hint of fear in her eyes.

"My sweet girl," his managed, kissing her temple, "oh, this is just... the perfect wedding gift, and the perfect song."

And then, much to the apparent confusion of their unwitting audience, Edith and Anthony Strallan were laughing in a mutual delirium as they carried on their first dance as husband and wife.

* * *

A/N: Your reviews have just been so lovely and very, very kind. Thank you! It makes my day every time I see one, and they are very much appreciated... Thank you for following and continuing on with me.

It seems Edith and Anthony have a bit of an announcement to make! I cringe to think how Robert will react. :)

Always  
Eleanor


	23. Edith Strallan's Wedding

Edith woke later than expected, blissfully sore in her muscles from hers and Anthony's vigor just hours previously. Still, she was the absolute image of serenity. Beyond the obvious joy of the wedding, Edith had been harboring a secret for the past several days, and today her plan was going to be executed beautifully. She sat up, smiling for no other reason than she was so content in herself. Running a hand over the wrinkled pillow where Anthony had been sleeping, she sighed. Normally he read everything in her mind, but she had worked very, very hard to keep this a surprise, and so far she had been successful. Mary's story had admittedly shaken her the night before, but then Anthony had come to the rescue, as usual.

"Oh god, Edith, you're still in bed?" Cora scolded, bustling in and helping herself to the knickers, camisole, and slip Edith had laid out. "Are you going to shower or are you going to attend your own wedding with day-old hair?"

"I think I'll shower," Edith said calmly, pulling the sheet with her as she stood.

Cora disappeared into the bathroom, hanging the silk slip from the towel rack. "Leave this here and don't turn on the fan so the steam can let out some of the wrinkles."

"Mama, how many people are going to see my slip?" Edith asked through a yawn.

"Well, one in particular I'm sure you care about," Cora said distractedly, coming from the bathroom and frowning as she muttered a list to herself. Looking up, Cora suddenly stopped and held up her hands. "Edith, what are you wearing? Do you always sleep in the nude?"

Edith blushed despite herself as she stammered, "Well, Mama, I just."

Cora gestured for Edith to stop and closed her eyes. "Never mind. I'm happier not knowing. You have twenty minutes and then Mrs. Hughes and I will be up here to do your hair and makeup. Mary is downstairs with Sybbie. Apparently Matthew and Tom slept at Anthony's? Anyway, your father's gone to get ready with the boys. Granny will meet us at the church. Oh, and Anthony's sister is on her way here. She wanted a word with you before we go to the church."

Cora was rushing out of the room when Edith uttered a timid, "Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"Am I allowed to eat?"

Cora dropped her head to one shoulder, letting her hands fall to her side. She smiled affectionately at Edith for a moment before walking back in. Kissing Edith on the forehead she said, "You can have some toast and fruit while we're doing your hair, how does that sound? I love you."

Cora Crawley was fussier than Edith, and more socially conscious, but she'd always been easier on Edith than anyone else in the family. It was the kind of love that only a mother could manage—unconditional even when it lacked understanding. There were times when Edith felt alone, but when it mattered Cora had always been there to give her middle daughter a meaningful touch of the arm and an indulgent smile.

"I love you too, Mama," Edith whispered.

"I'm glad, baby. Now hurry up. We've a wedding to put on."

The warm water felt remarkable, but then everything felt rather remarkable today. As Edith's mind wandered her hands ran of their own volition over the flat, firm plain of her tummy. The trusty Dr. Clarkson had said four or five weeks, not far at all, and Edith shook her head at the thought. Typical that she and Anthony would wait so long to even get near each other and then make a baby right at the start, but perhaps it was just meant to be.

As a practical, pragmatic person Edith felt ridiculous for entertaining such thoughts, but she couldn't help but feel sentimental, and even a little proud. She had figured they would have some time just the two of them before they really started trying, but she and Anthony had never been talented with timing. Somehow it was all rather perfect this way.

"Edith, are you nearly done?" Cora asked. Edith's shower had only a glass door as protection. She jumped, dropping her hands immediately.

"Mama, could I have just a small scrap of privacy, please?"

"Not today you can't, especially since you slept in. Chop chop!"

Edith rolled her eyes. _One day, it's one day_, she repeated to herself. Knowing that Anthony was just miles away waiting for her, she felt her irritation drift away with the billowing steam.

"I think a very tidy chignon," Cora was saying. Edith sat before her vanity, Mary, Elsie and Mama all looming over her, frowning at her short, thin hair.

"Not too tidy, Anthony likes my hair when it's natural."

"Edith, who cut your hair? There's absolutely no shape to it," Mary asked. Edith didn't dare explain that she gave herself a blunt cut with some utility shears.

"Oh, it's fine. Edith's hair has always had so much curl and bounce to it, we've plenty to work with," Mrs. Hughes shushed. "A few pins and we'll have it all lovely in no time." She cupped Edith's face sweetly as she spoke and Edith smiled gratefully as their eyes met in the mirror.

"Alright, now," Cora began, but they were interrupted. The baby monitor sounded just as Cora's mobile started to ring.

"I'll check on Sybbie," Mrs. Hughes offered.

"I'm going to take this call, I think it's the caterer," Cora said quickly.

"And I'll," Mary hesitated, looking around the room, "leave."

"No, you'll go to the laundry and get Edith's dress. And mind you don't wrinkle it, it's just been pressed," Cora instructed.

An hour later any semblance of Edith's personal dignity had been lost. Poked, plucked, painted, and buttoned into her dress, Edith stood before the long mirror in her bedroom turning left to right. It was more makeup than she usually wore, but she was still pleased with the effect. Anthony wouldn't mind, but he wouldn't mind when she wiped it off either, and that delighted her more than anything.

"Mind if I come in?" Gertrude asked, rapping lightly on the open door to Edith's room.

"Gertie! Oh god, please do. And shut that behind you, will you?"

"I see they've had their way with you," Gertrude laughed, stopping behind Edith to look at her in the mirror.

"Are they all busy?"

"Off getting ready themselves, the man at the door told me. Mr. Carson? I thought he was going to check my ID before he'd let me in."

Edith giggled. "Feel free to take a seat. I'm not allowed to until at least dinner or Mama will have my hide. I can't tell you how much fun this morning has been."

"You'll get through it. And if it's any consolation, Anthony's spent his morning with your father."

"Valid point," Edith exhaled, splaying out her veil with her arms again and dropping her head to one side. "It's odd, seeing myself in this dress. I honestly thought it would never happen. And with someone as wonderful as Anthony, no less." A smile grew despite her efforts.

"My brother is a good man, but be patient with him. Sometimes he's so busy being good he forgets to be human and it can be difficult. And he worries far too much, he always has."

"We've had that conversation," Edith said with a knowing look in Gertrude's direction. "If I loved him any less I'd think he was perfect."

Edith knew she wouldn't have to explain to Gertie what she meant—that she had broken down all of Anthony's refined and gallant defenses to let him be human, and she loved him for his faults as much as his strengths. Edith needn't explain it, because she knew Gertrude was the one other person in the world who had done the same.

"Well, I know I don't have to tell you, but I think you two are very lucky, and I'm so glad for you both. Thank you for making my brother happy. It's been a very, very long time, if ever, that I've seen him like this."

Edith reached behind her for Gertrude. Gertie took Edith's right hand, looking down and running her thumb over Joan's ring, temporarily placed there until after the ceremony.

"Gertrude," Edith said quietly, "I want to tell you something. I thought I would wait and tell Anthony first, but I don't think he'll mind being second to you."

"Oh?" Gertie asked, looking up at Edith again.

Edith turned from the mirror, pushing her veil behind her as she moved to hug Gertrude. "You're the closest thing to a mother Anthony has, and I think I owe you thanks for raising him to be so wonderful," Edith began.

"Oh, stop. What is it about weddings that make everyone get all mawkish? Even I'm guilty of it," Gertrude said gruffly. Edith was almost jumping with enthusiasm as she waited to tell her news. Gertrude laughed at her. "Well go on then, what is it?"

"We're going to have a baby. I only just found out and I'm not telling Anthony until the reception. I've got it all planned," Edith blurted quickly. "You're the only person who knows, other than Doc Clarkson of course, and I just couldn't wait anymore. I'm so happy."

"Oh, pet," Gertie whispered, her normally controlled, stoic face warming as her eyes grew wide and her chin began to tremble. "Oh, Edith, oh that's the most brilliant thing I think I've ever heard." She pulled Edith into a tight hug against her large, pillowy chest.

"Anthony and I have only really talked about it in passing, but I know he'll be pleased. At least I think I know. He will be pleased, won't he?" Edith sputtered, laughing and crying at once.

"Are you kidding? That man was born to be a father. He'll be tentative, mind, and he'll spoil your children rotten if you don't keep watch, but Edith, love, he will be over the moon," Gertie assured, placing her soft, warm hand against Edith's wet cheek.

"Oh, rabbit, don't let your mother see you crying, she'll throw a conniption," Mrs. Hughes said, coming into the room. Edith and Gertie both turned, jarred by the interruption of such a weighty moment.

"Is it that time?" Edith asked weakly.

"Your chariot awaits dearie," Mrs. Hughes smiled, handing Edith a modest bouquet of soft yellow roses and full hydrangeas and large white peonies.

"Thanks, Elsie, we'll be right down."

"Good luck, rabbit," Mrs. Hughes said with a weepy smile before bustling away.

"Rabbit?" Gertrude asked, helping Edith gather up her dress and veil.

"She's called me that for as long as I can remember. She says it's because I had big brown eyes, but I suspect it's because I had huge teeth as a child." Gertrude looked astonished when Edith glanced over at her. "Why? What is it?"

Gertrude shook her head. "Fate is a funny thing, pet. I told a story to Anthony not that long ago that had to do with a little bunny rabbit. Maybe I'll tell you about it one day, but for now let's get you to your fake wedding, hmm?"

"Will you ride with us?" Edith asked, taking Gertrude's arm.

"I'm certainly not driving myself," she huffed, leading Edith out the door.

Few words were spoken as they arrived at the church, except Robert making some comment about their tardiness. "Gertrude, hurry in and check on Anthony, will you?" Edith asked as the photographer pulled Edith's veil over her face arranged her dress around her for a quick 'before' photo.

Her mother and sister primped themselves as they lined up with the boys, and Robert took Edith's hand, woodenly wrapping it over his forearm.

"No one's making you do this, Papa," she whispered, trying to sound neutral instead of hurt or angry or bitter.

"In fact she is," he said, nodding towards Cora. Edith couldn't tell if he was joking or not, so she stared down at her bouquet through her veil.

The doors opened, Edith could hear the music, and suddenly her heart began to race. All those faces would be staring at her, watching and waiting to see how she performed. It was like she was sixteen again, forced to appear at her parents' glamorous parties with all their glamorous, beautiful friends. Edith thought she'd forgotten how to walk for a moment as her father lead her toward the church. _If only he would say something reassuring this once_, she thought childishly, glancing at Robert Crawley's handsome, expressionless face.

Edith watched her feet as they crossed the threshold into the church, making sure she didn't stumble, and just when she thought she couldn't be more terrified, she looked up.

There he was, Anthony, his great clear eyes on her and filled with an alarming amount of affection. And then Edith remembered that they were already married, inextricably tied together, that he loved her in a way that was still incomprehensible sometimes, and that they were going to be a family.

And oh, how she smiled then. She couldn't help it. Everyone else just faded into the background like the scenery in one of her mother's messier watercolors. Even her father, like a cold lead weight on her arm, couldn't bring Edith back to earth or weigh her down as she practically drifted to Anthony. She was drawn to him now, she suspected, as she had been her whole life.

Edith was tempted. She was tempted in the church to grab Anthony by the handsome silk tie of his and kiss him properly in front of god and everyone. She was tempted in the car to throw her legs over and have her way with him right there. And she was tempted more than anything to tell him her news—their news—every second that she stood beside him, watching him, feeling him, holding his hand.

As they made their way to the tent she was practically bursting with it. Edith squeezed Anthony's hand with both of hers, always eager to remind herself that he was real. Looking up at him, she longed for nothing more than to be home and in his arms. "Entrance, dinner, dance, cake, toasts, home," she listed.

"Is that the official schedule?" he asked, never taking his blue eyes from their projected path.

"If I say it often enough perhaps we can breeze through and be out of here in an hour," she joked.

"Wishful thinking," Anthony said dryly, though his face denoted a certain regret.

"I am very much looking forward to our dance, actually," Edith hedged, unable to take it a moment longer. Just as she said, "I think you'll be interested in the lyrics," they were spotted by their guests and greeted with a series of clapping and poppers and cheers. Mama had admittedly done a beautiful job, and while it was probably more opulent than Anthony preferred, and certainly too extravagant for her own tastes, Edith couldn't help but be satisfied.

Dinner passed without incident, she and Anthony mostly chatting quietly with each other. When it was cleared and Cora urged them onto the floor for the significant first dance, Edith was filled with giddy nerves. Not about the people watching—she couldn't care less about that now. No, this was the moment she'd been thinking of for three days. And then it began.

"Do you like it? The song I mean? It's the original, Gene Austin. I thought it was fitting," she said, wondering if he heard the tremble in her voice.

"Because we're so old fashioned, Lady Edith?" Anthony teased as he swept her easily around in a bobbing little circle.

"Among other things," Edith hinted, unable to hide her grin. As the chorus came up she pulled Anthony's face close so she might ensure he heard the most important part.

_I'll see a smiling face, a fireplace, a cozy room, a little nest that nestles where the roses bloom_ the song carried on.

Pressing her lips close to his ear, Edith sang the next bit aloud, "_Just Edith and me, little baby makes three, we're happy in my blue heaven._"

Edith felt every muscle in Anthony's body tense, though she knew it wasn't from dread so much as shock. They neither had been expecting it. Hoping to ease him into it, she said brightly, "I suppose the way we've been behaving these last six weeks it should come as no surprise." When Anthony said nothing she added with a blush, "Do you suppose anyone will wonder how we spent our engagement seven or eight months from now?"

He had taken the lead again, and she could practically hear his mind catching up, and when he suddenly snatched her closer and laid his cheek against her hair, relief flooded over her.

"Please say something," she whispered, longing to hear his deep voice and feel it in his chest as she pressed closer still.

"My sweet girl," he murmured, kissing her temple, "Oh, this is just... the perfect wedding gift, and the perfect song."

Making eye contact, the realization of what their lives had become seemed to strike all at once, and they both started laughing like giddy fools.

The song ended all too quickly, and as they separated Anthony pulled both her hands in his and brought them to his mouth for a quick kiss. "I wish we were alone so we could talk," he sighed, giving her the crooked smile that indicated gladness.

"We've a lifetime for that."

"I'd say we've about seven or eight months, actually," he muttered conspiratorially.

"Roughly 35 weeks, if you wish to be exact."

"Well we certainly didn't waste any time, did we? But I suppose timing never has been our strong suit, has it?" he asked.

"That's what I said!" Edith laughed. Even now it caught her off guard how similarly they thought.

"Edith, darling, now you dance with your Papa, and Anthony, you dance with Gertie," Cora instructed, intercepting them before they could resume their seats. They looked at each other with acceptance and then to their near-by dance partners. Robert appeared less than thrilled.

Gertie, who was wearing slacks and a blazer, said jovially, "We'll look like a couple of gents, brother, but I don't question a woman who plans all this in five weeks."

"Did you pick a special song for this too?" Anthony asked over his shoulder as the four headed back to the dance floor.

"As a matter of fact I did, for you both."

The music began, and Anthony and Gertrude were clearly enjoying themselves, laughing and chatting a fair distance away. Edith looked up at her father, who was staring blankly ahead, and wished she could join the fun group.

"Interesting choice of song," Robert offered conversationally, his voice clipped.

"Look for the Silver Lining. Gertie used to sing it to Anthony when he was little."

"Oh," Robert grunted as they continued their lifeless, awkward dance. But then he sighed, and Edith felt his posture soften a bit. His hand gripped hers more firmly as he tried again. "Edith, marriage, well it's more than just love. It's about partnership, compatibility. This giddy feeling you've got now, it likely won't last. Marriage is a marathon, and it's not always easy like this."

"I know, Papa," Edith said gently, so unused to his speaking of anything remotely emotional. The only time Robert Crawley got sentimental was over his dog Isis and the occasional football match. This was unexpected to say the least.

"Well, listen," he said, finally looking at Edith. "I want you to know that however I feel about it, and about Strall—sorry, Anthony, that you'll always have a home. You know, whatever you need, be it advice or help, or just someone to listen." With a small grin, the first hint of a smile Edith had seen on him in weeks, he added quickly, "money, a good lawyer."

"Papa," she warned, pushing his arm lightly in good humor.

"Well I'll be there. Whatever it is. And I do," he said, pausing as if it were difficult, "I want you to be happy, no matter what."

"Oh I am, Papa. Very, very happy," Edith said with a smile.

"Good," he sighed, kissing her forehead paternally. "Because I've come up with about seven ways to kill him and get away with it, and I'm working on an eighth."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Do, my daughter," he chuckled with a deep and consenting sigh.

It seemed like ages before Edith and Anthony were allowed to speak to each other again, each having to be gracious in accepting congratulations from people they'd never met and forever being pulled away by this thing or that. When they finally had two minutes together, they dropped into their seats, laughing exhaustedly.

"Who's the bloke with the thick glasses and plaid suit?" Anthony asked.

"I've no idea, I thought he was with you."

"Party crasher, definitely," Anthony laughed.

Looking out over the happy milieu, Edith sighed and leaned against Anthony's arm. "Have you seen Gertie and Tom? They're practically best mates."

"Maybe we can convince her to come for the holidays then," Anthony suggested.

"She'll have to come now, she won't have a choice, what with the baby," Edith said, dropping her voice.

"Speaking of, how are you feeling, Mrs. Strallan? Not too tired?"

"Anthony, I feel so happy and so full of love for you, it's like my body can barely contain it all. It's like there's just too much for one person to hold in."

"I suppose it's a good thing we're growing a second one to give some of it to, then," he whispered, kissing Edith's hair.

Edith looked up at him. "You are so sappy," she accused, but the tears in her eyes gave her away.

"Don't cry, sweet girl. People will get the wrong idea," he laughed, running a thumb under her eye.

"That reminds me," she said, straightening and clearing her throat. "I absolutely win our game outright. All the predictions and bets we placed on who will say what during toasts don't even matter."

"Really?" Anthony asked skeptically. "And what, pray tell, do you think deserves the win?"

"I got Gertrude to cry."

Anthony was still for a moment, looking down at Edith with a thoughtful expression. "Yes," he finally said, "I'm fairly certain that's a once-in-a-lifetime win. Congratulations. And what is your prize?"

Edith looked away, scanning the darkened tent lit warmly by candles and white twinkle lights, at their guests laughing and talking and drinking, at her parents dancing, at Mary and Matthew cooing over little Sybbie, Anna and John flirting at their table, and she tried to think of anything she hadn't already been blessed with today. And then one little thought popped into her head.

"I want to take a bath," she said, thinking back to her lonely soak the night before.

"A bath?" he repeated, puzzled at the simplicity of it.

"A bath. With you, and bubbles, and candlelight, and Puccini."

"Ah," Anthony sighed, pulling Edith's face towards him. "I suppose I can live with that." And for the hundredth time that night, Edith was tempted to kiss him the way she longed to. But knowing they had an audience, she settled for a small taste of his bottom lip and the knowledge that they had the rest of their lives to do more. And the rest of the night for that matter.

* * *

A/N: Ah! Your reviews are just too much! You all are so lovely and accommodating, I can't thank you enough. And I know this chapter is a bit long, but I couldn't bring myself to cut out any one part. So thank you for bearing with me and indulging my extra time on their wedding. :)


	24. Sweet One

"Are you coming to see me?" Anna asked with a grin as Edith took the seat beside her.

"All bloody night Mama has had me running around talking to all these people I don't know, and when I say I don't know them she goes, 'Of course, you remember him, he came to Easter when you were four' as if that clears it all up."

"I'm sorry."

"Him, for instance," Edith huffed, gesturing to the man in plaid. "Anthony and I were trying to figure it out. Neither of us knows him. He smells like bottle of gin, too."

"Oh, that's Joe Molesly, he works for your father, or rather for Matthew. He's harmless, really, he just can't hold his liquor. You should have seen him at last year's holiday bash. Poor man started dancing and crashed into Sarah O'Brien."

"That frigid woman that runs Mama's gallery? I would have paid money to see that. She's here too, by the way, looking pinched as ever."

Anna laughed sympathetically. "Well you look happy regardless."

"Oh god, Anna, I'm so happy I could sing with it. Look at him," she shrugged, her gaze traveling to Anthony where he stood with Matthew and Tom, a short glass of scotch in his hand. "I never in my life knew you could love someone the way I love that man."

"Oh, you've got it bad. Are you going to start writing drippy romances and saying things like he's the wind beneath your wings?"

"Maybe," Edith giggled, "though he's actually improved my writing a great deal. He also got me pregnant, so I suppose I owe him twice over."

Anna's head turned slowly as she and Edith stared at each other for a moment before they both burst into laughter. "He doesn't waste time, does he?"

"Anthony's terribly efficient," Edith said dryly.

"How long have you known? Did you tell him?"

"I've only just found out on Thursday. But yes, he knows. He's thrilled, though tomorrow he'll start worrying, I know. He'll probably have colleges picked out by the end of the week."

"Who else knows?"

"Gertie, and Rich Clarkson of course, but he's legally bound to keep it to himself. I know I can trust you and John, but we're waiting to tell everyone else. Between Papa's disapproval and it being so early and everything happening so quickly, we thought time to adjust was necessary."

"Time to keep it to yourself more like. I know you, Edie. You don't like to share your toys with your family."

"Well this is one thing I can't keep secret forever, but I will wait until I'm safely back in Dublin to avoid a replay of this circus around a baby shower."

"My poor, antisocial, Edie," Anna laughed, rubbing Edith's back. "I'm so glad you found someone as old and affable and bookish as you."

"Old?"

"I'm talking about souls, Edie, not bodies."

"I know what you mean," Edith sighed, laying her head on Anna's shoulder. "Did I tell you that he got down on one knee when he proposed?"

"No, you didn't," Anna muttered, stroking Edith's hair as they both stared absently across the tent at the strange variety of guests.

Edith closed her eyes. She'd always imagined this is what sisters were supposed to do—be affectionate and kind and interested in one another. Sybil was like that by nature, but hers and Edith's closeness had always been hampered by Mary's need to be first, most, and best of everything. But now, when Edith took Anna's free hand in hers and looked up again to find Anthony watching her, all that hurt seemed far away.

"He did," Edith continued. "And he insisted I say yes before he'd even kiss me again."

"That's rather sweet," Anna said.

"He is very sweet, and good. When you're young you think love is going to be fiery and fierce and terrifying, but it's not. Or ours isn't at any rate. It's quiet, you know? Sort of… still and calm and serene. I don't mean that it's boring, or lifeless," Edith stuttered.

Anna laid her cheek on Edith's head and stopped her. "No, it's steady, like a heartbeat. Sometimes it goes fast, thrumming in your chest, sometimes it's slower and not so loud, but it's always there, keeping you alive. I know, Edie. Not many people understand that, I don't think."

"I'm glad no one's hearing this conversation," Edith scoffed, giving Anna's hand a squeeze. "We sound like a couple of paperback fools talking rubbish."

"Wait until the little one comes and the things you'll hear yourself say."

"Motherhood makes saps of us all, hmm?"

"Not as bad as fatherhood, I should warn you," Anna giggled.

"Well, my bride and _the_ bride, lovely," John Bates sighed, coming up to sit on the other side of Anna.

"See what I mean?" Anna laughed.

"Oh god, we need someone to come talk reason for a moment. Where's Gertie?" Edith joked, looking around conspicuously. She did not find Gertrude, but instead found the eyes of Violet Crawley as the old woman made her way over. "Well, that'll do to kill the spirit," Edith mumbled under her breath.

"Edith, dear, I'm leaving," Violet said, slightly breathless from the short walk to where Edith sat.

"So soon, Gran?"

"Soon? Edith, I'm nearly 80. For me late happened about two hours ago. Now, why don't you and your husband walk me to my car, please?"

Edith straightened, then stood woodenly, her body and her mind wrestling between confusion and fear. "Yes, alright," she said numbly.

"We're not walking to the gallows, Edith, relax," Violet instructed.

Edith nodded and hurried off to fetch Anthony, whose arm Granny chose for the walk up to the drive.

Away from the music and the chatter of the warmly lit tent, the sounds of night birds and crickets could be heard, and the sky was bright and clear. Edith and Anthony flanked Granny as they made their way slowly up the side yard toward the drive. When they were a fair distance from the party, where the grand house blocked the light of the moon, Violet began to speak.

"I know you were expecting me to object, to make a big fuss against this marriage," she began.

Edith opened her mouth to respond, but when she and Anthony glanced at each other over Violet's head, he smiled to reassure her. She looked ahead again, waiting for Gran to continue.

"I like tradition, and I like rationality, and good decisions. Edith, you've always had an unwavering and absolutely concrete idea of who you were. Perhaps you didn't get the attention the others got when you were children, but it's because you never needed it the way they did. I swear you came right out of the womb the exact person you are now."

"Am I so unchanging, Gran?" Edith asked as they stopped so Violet might rest a moment.

"That's just what I'm getting at. You came back from Dublin my same Edith, but different, a better version of yourself."

"You think so?"

"And it's no mystery why," Granny nodded, patting Anthony's arm as they continued on. Looking up at the tall man beside her Violet let out a signature humph. "When I pictured the wedding of my Edith, I admittedly did not picture you, Anthony. Especially given that I knew you as a boy, all limbs and floppy hair and cheekbones."

Turning to Edith, Violet said sprightly, "Have you seen pictures of him at your age? He looked like a Swedish model or something, all skinny and blonde, tan from rowing.

Edith smiled. Even in the dim lighting she could tell Anthony was blushing.

"But you see, I never could picture the sort Edith belonged with at all really, and now that I see you two together I realize it's because Anthony's the answer."

They were nearly to the gavel of the drive now, where Cora's hired men were waiting to fetch cars from the garage.

"My point is," Violet said, stopping just short of the light from the front of the house and turning to face them both. "There's something here, with you two, that's going to survive Robert's pouting and Mary's jealousy. I've certainly picked some battles in my life, just ask your Grandmother, or Cora for that matter. But this battle is not for me, it's for you two. You might have to fight for yourselves, but not with me. If it's up to me you'll have a long and quiet life." Giving them a final once over she rolled her eyes and added, "Probably filled with a great deal of books and dreary analytical conversation."

Edith was nearly overcome by Granny's unexpected blessing, and hugged the woman fiercely despite her obvious discomfort.

"Thank you, Mrs. Crawley, that means a very great deal," Anthony said graciously, kissing Violet on the cheek.

"I think you may call me Violet now. Granny would be absurd, but surely we're beyond surnames. Now run and fetch my car and driver, please. I'm in need of bed."

Not long after Violet made her leave, the rest of the party began filtering home. Anna and John had to get back to the baby, little Jack having been left in the care of John's mother. Tom, likewise, made his excuses and took baby Sybbie off to bed for the night. Many of Papa's work friends were eager to keep the party going, so Edith and Anthony wished them much fun and slipped away to Locksley.

"Are you comfortable?" Anthony asked, kissing the top of Edith's ear.

"Mmm," she replied with a satisfied sigh.

The clawfoot tub was wide and deep enough to accommodate them and plenty of hot water together. Anthony had taken great care in unbuttoning Edith's gown, which Edith said Mrs. Hughes would appreciate. He had drawn the bath and set up a few candles while Edith let down her hair, removed her jewelry, and washed her face. Now she rested beneath the hot water, between his legs, her head against his chest, his arms around her middle. Anthony's hands were resting beneath hers on her tummy, his index fingers drawing lazy, affectionate circles. Edith was in heaven.

"Dublin seems far away tonight, doesn't it?" he asked, resting his chin against her hair.

"How do you mean?"

"Us, when we first met. On the one hand it feels like we were together from the start, doesn't it? Like we've known each other our whole lives. On the other, those two painfully shy and terrified people are almost unrecognizable."

"Sometimes it feels like years, and other times like minutes since we've met."

"Exactly," he muttered, kissing her ear again. "Do you remember what you told me that first day we spent bashing about Dublin?"

"Anthony, we talked for almost twelve straight hours," Edith said. When he waited, she conceded. "I remember every word."

"You told me you'd have liked to be an earl's daughter a hundred years ago." After a moment, Anthony mused, "If we lived back then I would have courted you formally. It would have taken eight years instead of eight months, and I would have asked for your father's approval. We would have been kept under guarded watch until our wedding night, when I would have taken you away on honeymoon to Rome or Venice or the like."

"I would have waited eight years for you, Anthony."

"I'm glad you didn't have to," he admitted with a little chuckle.

"I'm glad that you're mine, that we're here, that we're having a baby. You're the only man I've ever loved, the only man I've ever been with, and the man who will raise my children. Isn't that just the loveliest thing?"

"My sweet girl," he muttered. "I'm glad no one else can hear this conversation. We sound like a couple of fools in a romance novel."

Edith laughed weakly, nuzzling into Anthony's neck. "I said the same thing not two hours ago."

"Why does that not surprise me?" he whispered.

They soaked for a long while, until the water grew tepid and the candles began to flicker as the wax melted down.

"Edith, my love?" Anthony asked, realizing her breathing had grown slow and deep. He craned his neck to peer down at her and realized she was asleep in his arms. "Poor dear," he whispered. As delicately as he could manage, Anthony coaxed Edith into waking. "Come, darling," he muttered. He stepped out first, slipping on his own robe before holding Edith's open for her.

As they stood beside the tub, Anthony ran his hand through her hair and over her cheek. "What do you say to a soft bed with cool sheets and a good lie-in?" he offered.

"I love you," was her reply, and she wasn't at all surprised when he kissed her softly on the lips and then took her easily in his arms.

"Anthony?" Edith asked, eyes closed, as they settled into the pillows together.

"Hmm?" He replied, wrapping his arm around her from behind and pulling her close against him.

"What will be our anniversary? We were married twice, on two different days. Do we choose the tenth or the eleventh?"

"Well, like our weddings themselves, let's have the tenth for us and the eleventh for the world."

"I like that," she muttered through a yawn.

"I like you."

"I love you and I like you."

"I'm glad," he sighed deeply. Such small words to express such a truth.

"Anthony?"

"Hmm?" he managed, unable to keep his eyes open, but wishing desperately he could stay awake to spend time with her.

"Thank you."

"You needn't thank me," he replied, playing out their usual script as easily as if they were doing the foxtrot.

"Thank you for making me a wife, and a mother, and a better person."

"You've done the same for me."

"I made you a mother?" she asked cheekily.

"Shut up and go to sleep," he muttered. Though they weren't facing each other, and they both had their eyes closed, Edith and Anthony Strallan could feel each other smiling as they drifted into sleep.

* * *

A/N: This is one of the first chapters I had in mind. I apologize for the over-fluff. Hopefully this Edith and Anthony will keep one foot on the ground in coming chapters. :)

In response to the few private messages and comments I've received, my hope with this Edith and Anthony was that their love would/could translate into this century where things move faster and the world is perhaps stranger and a bit harder to navigate. At the end of the day, I wish them to be the Edith and Anthony that always were-simply meant to be together. That being said, I like that modern E&A have much more freedom socially and culturally than they did a hundred years ago. And if this is offensive or off-putting, I do apologize and hope that I have treated them with class and dignity.

Sorry for the rambling. More to follow soon. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for continuing to read and review. I would probably write this story for my sake even if no one read, but it certainly wouldn't be as fun and fulfilling.

Always,  
Eleanor


	25. The Literary Soiree

A/N: M rating for the following. Just a bit of fun. ;)

* * *

"I can't believe the space up here," Edith said again, looking around the attic with her hands on her hips. She was standing over a box of old books and papers from Anthony's school days. It was a long room, almost the length of the house, with plank wood floors and low windows.

Anthony looked over at Edith. She was wearing an old pair of jeans, tight-fitting but well-worn with holes in the knees and thighs. She had tucked in the front of a white tee-shirt, which had a neckline low enough to show off her collarbones—one of Anthony's favorite parts of her. A soft pink cardigan hung off her shoulders, and she was flushed from moving boxes and things. Edith was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Yes, yes," he stuttered, amused that he could be so stricken by his wife. Her eyes snapped to him, and narrowed playfully. She seemed to know where his mind was. "Though perhaps it feels a little more spacious for you," he amended. Anthony's head was bent at an awkward angle as he stood, pressed into the low ceiling. His petite wife could stand fully erect but he decidedly could not.

Edith huffed a little sympathetic laugh and climbed over the boxes askew between them. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't worry me," she muttered, reaching up to kiss Anthony's cheek.

"What's that, dearest?"

"Your height. If your baby is anything like you I'll be thrilled, but I do have to get it out of me at some point," she said frankly.

Anthony laughed, sitting on a nearby trunk and pulling Edith into his lap. The sun was starting to come directly through the low windows that looked out over the front and back yards, casting gold and yellow light around the whitewashed space. "If it's any consolation, I was a small baby. Under a half stone according to my birth record."

"Really? I was nearly ten."

"That's not a baby, that's a ham," Anthony laughed, running a hand over Edith's non-existent belly. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll manage."

"Like I have a choice," she snorted, slipping off her sweater. "It's getting hotter up here by the minute. What do you say to lunch, hmm? Then maybe a walk on the beach." She draped her arms around him, clasping her hands over his shoulder.

Anthony ran his hand along his wife's long, white arm. "I love you," he breathed, closing his eyes and resting his head against her sternum. "Thank you for helping me go through all this useless stuff, Edie."

Anthony had picked up the nickname from Anna, and found that he rather liked it.

"Well, we need the room for storage if we're turning my room into a nursery. And anyway, this stuff isn't useless. Like this box for instance," she chirped, hopping up to open a random box nearby. She peered in and gasped. "Anthony George Strallan. Why on _earth_ aren't these downstairs for easy access?" she admonished, pulling out Anthony's record collection from his childhood.

"Those were strictly contraband," he said with a nostalgic little smile. "They're more Gert's generation than mine, but I thought everything she did was the greatest. Mother and Father would have been furious if they knew she snuck them to me. I'd listen to them with a pillow over the speaker so they wouldn't overhear."

"My poor darling," Edith muttered to herself, pulling a stack into her lap. "Oh, Anthony, these are fabulous. The Kinks, Rolling Stones, Beatles, Turtles, Hollies, Marvin Gaye, Cream, Otis Redding, the Beau Brummels. Oh, Van Morrison!" she listed as she leafed through. "Good god, Anthony. This is amazing."

Anthony shrugged. "The record player is up here somewhere. If we find it I might be able to get it to work."

Still pulling album after album from the box Edith faltered and laughed suddenly. "Oh Anthony," she said in teasing shame. "Herman's Hermits?"

"That's, uh, not mine," he coughed, taking the record from her hand.

"Right, darling, just like the girly magazines in that box over there." Anthony visibly flinched and looked at her in confusion. "I'm teasing," she smiled, leaning over the records to kiss him. As daft as he felt to even think it, Anthony decided he would never tire of kissing his wife. Eight months of denying it seemed an eternity, and he was bound and determined to spend the rest of his life making up for it.

They hadn't taken a traditional honeymoon, figuring their five weeks before the wedding was plenty of time to lounge about. Both the Strallans were eager to get back to Ireland and settle into their lives as a family. What neither had expected was that Locksley or Carlingford, it was all exactly the same so long as they were together.

They were both leaning awkwardly over the box of records and the stacks Edith had pulled already. Showing a typical impatience, Edith growled in frustration as she pushed everything aside haphazardly to get closer to Anthony. Albums slid in all directions and Anthony was fairly certain he felt the Beach Boys snap under the weight of his knee as she pulled him toward her.

"I thought you were hungry," he said as she began on the buttons of his linen shirt with businesslike tenacity.

"Mmm, lunch can wait, I think," she answered. She untucked his shirt to get to the last few buttons and ran her hands beneath his undershirt.

"I think you're forgetting, love," he said, gently pulling Edith's hands away by her wrists. "It's Saturday, the eighth."

"Yes?" she urged, still not following.

"If we're going to make the department thing we've got to head out in the next couple hours, and we'll want to pack some overnight bags if we decide to stay at the flat."

Edith grimaced and let her head fall to Anthony's shoulder. "Gah, I completely forgot," she said. "Pregnancy is destroying my brain cells I think."

"I'd suggest we skip it altogether if Murphy didn't make it clear he expected me to make an appearance."

"All the graduate candidates have to go anyway. It's our last obligation while we wait for our manuscripts to be evaluated and approved by the panel."

"Well," Anthony sighed, kissing Edith's hair before standing and moving for the stairs, "at least I'll have a chance to show off my young bride."

"Well that's true," she said sarcastically. "I mean, being able to take your tarty wife around is the only reason you married me, right?"

"The only reason. Truthfully, if it wasn't for your looks I'd get rather tired of being outsmarted all the time."

"Is that so?" Edith asked, one eyebrow arched as he turned to watch her coming down the stairs. She stopped a few steps up from him so she might be eye-level.

"Everyone will assume you married me for my money, and I for your youth," he said quietly.

"They'll be wrong," she said. "I married you to spite my parents." Edith jumped into his arms suddenly, using her positioning on the stairs to her advantage. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clasped her hands behind his neck. He was not at all surprised.

"Really? And here I thought it was my overt masculinity and sexual prowess," he said dryly, running his hands from her thighs to her backside.

"Mmm, that too," she hummed, dipping down to kiss him.

"We really don't have time for this. We need to get going or we'll be late," he muttered against her lips.

"Maybe if we're just really efficient," Edith suggested, nipping at his earlobe. "You know, multitask."

"Two birds, one stone?"

"Two Strallans, one shower," Edith amended, pointing in the direction of their room.

"I'm not familiar with that phrase," he teased.

"Oh Anthony, shut up," Edith whined, kissing him again. And as he was wont to do, Anthony obeyed his sweet, lovely, and occasionally demanding wife.

The party was tradition, one steeped in booze and wit and lofty conversation that eventually crumbled into dirty jokes and sloppy banter. Edith was sitting on an upholstered bench near a fireplace tall enough for her to stand in, watching the room roil.

The graduate candidates, most of them two or three years younger than Edith, were particularly joyous, coming off a year of intense writing and for most a week of last-minute edits before the manuscript deadline. Now they were being treated as peers by their mentors, and that may be even more intoxicating than the drinks being freely poured.

Edith, though technically in the same position, was less enthused. It wasn't that she was jaded, or so arrogant as to think she had learned nothing over the past academic year. Rather, her degree was suddenly second fiddle to her real prize, who was currently trying to excuse himself from Professor Warren's conversation. Anthony kept glancing apologetically to Edith as the waifish Liza Warren pushed her large glasses up her nose neurotically and continued to ramble on.

"I see he's gone and left you unattended. Poor decision in a room of miscreants and drunks," came Michael Gregson's voice. Edith looked over her shoulder just as Michael took the vacant half of the bench, sitting a bit closer than she liked.

Clearing her throat and leaning away slightly, Edith managed a polite grin. "He needn't worry. I'm afraid the poor man's been sequestered by Dr. Warren."

"Oh, then he's no doubt getting a mini-lecture on the misogynistic prejudice in the modern literary canon. He should be freed in no less than an hour," Gregson guessed. Edith looked over at him. He really wasn't an unfriendly man, just somewhat dense and, Edith suspected, a little lost in his own life.

"And how are you this evening, Michael? Any conquests lined up?" she asked boldly, knowing he would probably appreciate her almost rude candor.

"Oh, Edith, you're the only literary maiden for me," he flirted, a little impious glint in his eye.

Edith rolled her eyes and looked back to Anthony. "You're out of luck, I'm afraid," she muttered, grinning involuntarily as she caught his eye. Anthony flicked his gaze to Gregson and cocked his head, silently asking if she needed help. Edith shook her head subtly, and even laughed when she realized the whole exchange had gone unnoticed by Gregson.

"Can I ask you something?" said Gregson, trying, Edith was sure, to sound sincere.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Why are you with him? He's a droll sort of fellow, sure, but how dull your daily life must be." Edith was about to respond when he leaned in a bit closer and dropped his voice. "Edith, is it the money? I mean everyone in the department has speculated what he must be worth, though you'd never guess from all those ancient sweaters and his monkish lifestyle. But is it the money? Because I assure you, I've homes…"

Edith cut him off. "It's not his money, Michael, and shame on you for thinking so."

Gregson shrugged and frowned. "Why then. Just help me understand, on a scholarly endeavor, what hold he has on you."

Edith took a deep breath, a thousand answers lining up in her mind as she watched her husband smile graciously at the infamously strident Professor Warren. He was so much the epitome of goodness and kindness. He was strong, faithful and sturdy. He made Edith feel safe, and loved, and like she was part of something significant and purposeful. He was brilliant, of course, but also brilliantly funny, and so very, very handsome. But more than all that he was simply the other part of herself, as if a millennia or two ago, she lost a limb and for the rest of eternity it would be housed in Anthony, making them utterly inseparable.

But when she looked back to Michael, to his unctuous little smirk and his empty, beady eyes, she knew he would neither understand nor accept any of those reasons for her loving Anthony so entirely.

Perhaps it was the energy of the party, or maybe Michael's implication that Anthony was anything less than remarkable, or maybe Edith was simply in the mood to be a bit cheeky and brazen. Whatever the reason, she dropped her chin and said conspiratorially, "Do you really want to know?"

"Please, put me out of my misery. Solve the great mystery," Gregson breathed.

"He's remarkable in bed, Michael." Gregson snorted, but Edith kept her face straight. "It's true. Dr. Strallan's checkbook is not the only thing well-endowed, if you'll forgive my frankness. I can be honest with you, can't I Michael? Everyone knows how wonderful Anthony is as a person, in public so to speak, but I'm one of the lucky who get to know how wonderful he is in private. I mean, he does things to my body I can't even begin to articulate. The first time we were together I literally thought I'd died. He's just," Edith trailed off, letting her gaze drift lazily to her dear, unassuming husband, and sighed.

"I, I never would have guessed," Michael stuttered, nearly in a whisper.

"Anyway, I'm sure a man like you can understand—a woman just doesn't walk away from _that_."

Michael stood in a stunned silence while Edith smiled politely, satisfied and horrified at the same time. She'd gone too far, let her petulance get the better of her. And she had probably embarrassed Anthony too. Oh, he would be so discomfited. Suddenly she felt ashamed. She looked away quickly, her grin fading, just in time to see Anthony approaching.

"Hello dearest, sorry about that," he said in his typically jovial manner. He handed her a long-ago promised glass of water and narrowed his eyes slightly. "Everything alright?"

"I think I'm tired. I'd like to go, if you're ready."

"I'll just get our coats," Anthony offered, stepping away.

Edith turned back to a still speechless Gregson. Feeling the need to finish what she started, Edith stood and put the final nail in the man's coffin. "Well, thank you for a rather _stimulating_ conversation, Michael. If you'll excuse me, I'm rather eager to get home, with my husband." And with that she turned to follow after Anthony.

She found him in the foyer. The party was being held at a historic manor house, long-since assimilated into the college's property. The majority of the rooms had been converted into offices and the bottom floor a sort of antiquated banquet hall. When Anthony turned to her, both their coats slung over his arm, she had a fleeting vision of him in white tie at a grand socialite party.

"Gregson giving you much trouble?" he asked as Edith approached.

"Nothing I didn't handle."

"Good on you," he smiled with genuine pride.

"I think you'll be disappointed in me, actually. I stooped to his level. You'll probably be upset when I tell you what I said."

"I doubt that very much," Anthony replied, not pushing Edith for further explanation.

They walked in silence, slowly making their way through the great hall toward the back parking. Edith followed a step behind, observing the angle of his jaw and the broad plain of his shoulders, and she smiled. There were a thousand reasons she and Anthony were together that were honest and sweet and pure that Michael Gregson would never understand.

But then it occurred to her that what she had told Gregson wasn't a lie either. Anthony made her feel things she never expected, and her body never failed to respond to his every minute touch.

As his hand swung between them, the band on his finger caught the light of a nearby lamp, and she silently thanked the universe for the thousandth time that Anthony Strallan was hers. And with that she pushed him into the nearest room, which from what she could tell was a small den of some sort.

"What?" Anthony managed before Edith was on him.

One of the advantages, Edith decided, of being a whole head and shoulder shorter than your husband is that you can leap into his arms and he'll always, always manage it. She was pressed against him, squeezing his shoulders as tightly as she could, teasing her tongue inside his mouth. As he lifted her a bit in his arms, readjusting her, she locked her ankles, pressing her heels into the small of his back, arching against him.

Anthony stepped forward, shoving her against the door as his hands ran up her thighs. When Edith pulled away for a moment to see his expression, she bit her lip. He looked almost alarmed. She lowered herself again, momentarily, for logistical reasons.

"Edie, sweetheart, are you sure you want to do this here? Right now?" he asked, his blue eyes all sweetness and surprise.

"Anthony, yes," she growled, tugging violently at his belt and trousers. It took him less than a second to accept her little whim and join in the spirit of the thing. His hands moved deftly beneath her skirt to pull her knickers down. She'd just barely stepped out of them and her flats before Anthony had her against the door again, her weight easily in his hands.

Edith decided she liked this new positioning. He pressed against her with the whole length of his body to keep her up and her thighs pushed into his hips. She rocked helplessly against him as Anthony kissed her ravenously. Releasing her weight from his hands, Anthony let her slide just low enough to manage it. She was so eager for him she nearly came the second he slipped inside her.

"Oh, Eed," he moaned, using his great hands to hold her up as she rocked her hips against him. That he managed even those words impressed her. She was quite beyond any articulation, reduced to whimpering pleas and involuntary cries muffled into his shoulder. Her trembling hands held tightly to the back of his neck, her arms taught, holding herself against him, keeping their faces close.

She tried to slow down, tried to make it last, but her body simply wouldn't let her. She rolled her hips faster, and harder, feeling the warmth of their stomachs touching with each movement. There was a sound registering, and it took a moment for Edith to realize it was her own muted gasping as his arms let her even lower, allowing him to sink that much further into her.

They had made love so many times, and it was always so good, but it had never been like this. Edith felt powerful, wild, at once in control and losing herself. "Oh, An—oh—love you," she huffed against his ear, moving faster still.

"Edith," was his reply, guttural and animalistic. The reverberation of his deep, husky voice through their connected chests was the end of her.

Edith, still vaguely aware in some part of her that they were not in a terribly private place, tried to quiet herself, but only managed to dull her scream against Anthony's shoulder, fairly biting him in the process. He finished almost immediately after, hanging his head against her sternum as he caught his breath.

They stayed like that for a moment, both shaky and winded and somewhat dazed. Slowly, Anthony slipped out of her, lowering her to the floor one foot at a time, but not allowing more space than that between them.

"I don't know what that was about," he finally whispered against her ear, eyes closed. "But feel free to pull me into any room of your choosing at any time."

Edith laughed weakly, rolling her head against the door and running a hand over her forehead. Anthony pulled up his trousers before bending down to help Edith.

In a gesture she found oddly intimate and affectionate, he quietly, dutifully, gathered her silk knickers and helped her into them. Kneeling before her, he pulled them into place across her hipbones. Before pulling the skirt of her dress back down, Anthony placed a soft, dry kiss beneath her bellybutton. It was a small thing, really, just a kiss for their baby. But to Edith it meant everything. In one gesture, completely natural to him, Anthony summarized everything about their love, everything Edith could never articulate.

"I love you like mad," she huffed when Anthony stood up again.

"I should hope so. Because if that was how you show mild indifference…" he teased, but she cut him short with another kiss.

"Take me home, Anthony, please."

"Of course, sweet one," he murmured.

After a quick once over, Anthony scooped up their forgotten coats and they both reemerged into the dark, vacant hall. Anthony reached for Edith's hand, both beyond much else. When they reached the car, Edith finally spoke.

"Anthony?"

"Yes?" he asked, looking rather harried and beleaguered.

"Can we stop for ice cream on the way? I'm dying for ice cream."

Anthony laughed, utterly bemused. "Darling, from now on I'm always going to do exactly as you ask without question. If you wanted a Tahitian coconut right now I'd go get it for you."

"That won't be necessary. I'm thinking more along the lines of some balsamic ice cream from Murphy's on Wicklow St. Do you think they're still open?"

"If not, I'll break in," Anthony answered, opening Edith's door for her and kissing her sweetly on the temple before shutting it.

* * *

A/N: Dear readers, thank you as ever for taking a moment to review. And how good you are at making me blush! Thank you, thank you for your kindness. I do apologize for the length between updates. I honestly don't know where the month of March went. (Time flies when you're daydreaming about E&A and getting your hopes up about season 4, I suppose. :)

All my best,  
Eleanor


	26. Home

"Happy birthday," Anna sang through the phone. "How has it been so far?"

"Oh, just…perfect," Edith sighed contentedly. "I'm ten weeks today, and we had our first big ultrasound this morning. We heard the baby's heartbeat and everything."

"Did you cry?" Anna asked with a knowing giggle.

"No, oddly enough, but Anthony did. Poor darling. The baby's perfect, nice and big the doctor said."

"Well what are you doing now?"

"I'm at the flat, thinking of taking a nap. Anthony had to hurry off to a faculty meeting at school, but he has some plans for tonight and then tomorrow we'll head out to the sea house and spend the next week or two up there."

"I can't keep track of where you live. The flat, the sea house, Locksley, Dublin, Carlingford, Grantham," Anna listed.

"You and me both," Edith sighed with a little giggle. "But it's worth it to not be separated."

"And how are you feeling otherwise?"

"Exhausted but wonderful. I haven't been sick or anything. I was starting to get nervous, actually, until we saw that little flicker on the screen today."

"Amazing, isn't it?" Anna asked.

"A bit, yeah," Edith replied, unable to stop herself from grinning madly.

"Well listen, I just wanted to say happy birthday to my darling Edie, and keep me posted on everything. Just because you're a wife and a mum doesn't mean you can forget about me."

"I won't."

"Miss you."

"Thanks, Ann. I miss you too."

Edith set down her mobile. It was just past eleven on June fifteenth, and already it was the best birthday Edith could ever remember having. She slid a hand over her tummy and laughed to herself from sheer delight, trying to force away the thought in the back of her mind that no one can be so happy, that something will inevitably go wrong.

Deciding she'd rather stay productive than give into the urge to sleep, she gathered a few things, and made some tea. Anthony promised to be back in a few hours at the most, and while she had insisted he not worry, she did miss him. It was almost embarrassing how she longed for him, even after the shortest absence.

Edith was sitting on the couch with a sketch pad, a notebook, a variety of pens and drawing pencils, and two books she'd been meaning to read. What had started as an earnest attempt to sketch the form of a pregnant woman in some beach grass soon dissolved into a series of doodles and scribbles. She was testing out different baby names that went well with Strallan in her long, slanted cursive when Anthony came through the door.

"Hello my darling, I wasn't expecting you back for hours," Edith greeted, springing from her spot on the sofa to kiss Anthony on the cheek. "Would you like some tea? How was your day?"

"Every day you're my wife is a good day," he answered, hugging her warmly.

"That," Edith said, pulling the back of Anthony's sweater to get a little space between them, "is a very sweet and very evasive answer. What's going on?"

Anthony sighed and dropped to the nearby sofa, Edith following after, sitting close beside him.

"My darling wife, it is your birthday and I will not waste a moment more of it on work. Now, what would you like to do with the afternoon? I have plans for dinner, but they can be changed if you don't feel up to it. We could take a stroll through Stephen's Green if you like, or perhaps you'd care for a long soak in the tub?"

"The only thing I care to know is what you're not telling me. I know you too well, Anthony. I don't give a toss about my birthday. Now spill."

Anthony sighed, looking sideways at Edith. When she arched her eyebrow in that certain way he conceded.

"Well, Murphy asked me to his office for a visit this morning. It seems there has been some," he paused, looking for the right word. The way his eyes darted to Edith she knew he was looking for the most gentle word. "Discourse."

"Discourse," she repeated skeptically.

"Yes, it seems there's some concern over the fact that I married one of the Master's candidates. Apparently the department, generally speaking, has voiced some…discomfort."

When she had finally told Anthony what happened with Gregson he had laughed heartily and told her she was worried about nothing. But Edith wondered if their might be backlash.

"Oh god, Anthony, did I get you fired?" Edith asked, running a hand through his hair. She was half-kidding, trying to mask the concern creeping over her.

"No, I resigned," he said simply.

Edith's jaw dropped, and she moved to the coffee table across from them so she might face Anthony squarely. Placing a hand on each of his knees, she said again, "I did get you fired, didn't I? Tell me, please."

She'd never seen Anthony like this. Or rather, she had, but his reaction wasn't at all what she expected. He was outright calm, even relaxed. He propped his elbow on the back of the sofa and scratched his head. "It seems a certain Professor Gregson insinuated that I tried to coerce him into blindly passing your manuscript, thereby affecting the whole panel's decision on your being granted the degree."

And now Edith was furious. Her mouth gaped for a moment while she decided what part of that she should be most mad about. Unable to make a decision she simply shrieked "That utter bastard!"

Anthony reached out to take her hand. Here he was, reputation and career in tatters, and he was comforting her. Edith almost laughed at the absurdity.

"He did make it very clear that your manuscript stood on its own, and everyone agreed that it was quite the best work they'd seen pass through the programme in years."

"But they still fired you?"

"No," Anthony assured, leaning forward to take both her hands between his as his elbows rested on his thighs. "No, Murphy's known me for fifteen years, and everyone and their aunt knows what a weasel Gregson is. It was more of a formality, really. Murphy said he had to talk with me about it, but that he had no doubts at all about my integrity or yours. He was quite complementary of you, actually."

"Then what happened?" she asked, shocked that Anthony seemed to be treating the whole thing almost humorously.

"It seems Gregson was not going to let the matter rest with the department, he wanted to get the president involved. Murphy assured he would stand by me, but I wasn't willing to go through all that."

"So I did get you fired," Edith muttered, deflating, her voice smaller than she'd expected.

"No, my darling, you did not," he said, more emphatic this time.

"But then why would you resign? You love teaching."

"I did, yes, when it was the only fulfilling thing in my life. Before I had you. Now I'd rather not spend so much time away from home. And anyway, it's not like we need the money. I'm close enough to retirement age that I won't look like a total lout," he added with a little smile.

Edith was surprised to find herself nearly in tears. Perhaps it was the pregnancy, or maybe that she just loved Anthony so much it still knocked her over sometimes. "Are you really going to be okay with this?"

"More than," he promised, bringing her hands to his lips for a quick and reassuring kiss. Looking back up at her he added, "And I was thinking about something else too. Maybe it's time to leave Dublin."

"But we just got back, what do you mean?" Edith asked, confused.

"I think maybe when we were making our plans we got it all backwards. Maybe we should holiday over here and live in Yorkshire, back at Locksley, or somewhere else if you don't fancy the big manor."

"Yorkshire? Anthony, you hated Yorkshire. Our lives are in Dublin."

"No darling," he said softly, "I'll always love this city, especially since it's so filled with memories of you. But our lives are in Yorkshire. I ran away to Dublin. We both did. But you, my darling," he said, reaching up to stroke her cheek and jaw, "you brought me home again. Let's go home, eh?"

"To Locksley and the Crawleys and the awful parties and family suppers and everything?"

Anthony nodded. "Everything. I know you miss your family, even if they're not always easy, and I don't want our child growing up without them, especially little Sybbie. Plus we'll be closer to Gert." Anthony shrugged, his eyes searching Edith's. "It just feels like the right thing to do, don't you think?"

Now the tears weren't merely threatening, but streaming down Edith's face as she nodded quickly and pitched her arms around Anthony's neck. "But not just summers, alright? I want to come back all the time. To Carlingford. I love that house."

"I'm a man of leisure now, love," he joked into her ear. "We can go back and forth as often as you like." Pulling her back so he could look into her eyes Anthony asked, "Are you sure you want to do this? I know how I feel, but if you want to stay, darling, we can stay. I'd live anywhere you wanted, so long as I get to be with you."

"I do want to go home. Desperately. I just didn't know it until you said something," she sniffed, straightening up and wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Forgive me darling, but I can't tell. Is that happy crying or sad crying?"

Edith laughed through her sniffling. "At this point, I honestly don't know the difference anymore. I cried after you left this morning, and then I cried because I couldn't get the lid off the jam. I'm a mess of hormones."

"Speaking of, how is my child doing?" he asked brightly, trying to cheer her.

Edith flipped up her blouse and patted her flat, firm tummy. "Not even the slightest bulge. Until this morning I was beginning to wonder if perhaps Dr. Clarkson was mistaken."

"I'm rather fond of your bellybutton," Anthony muttered absently, running a finger across it. "Anyway, I'm sure the telltale bump will arrive soon enough. And then," he added pointedly, "telling your family won't be put off much longer."

Edith let her shirt fall again with a sigh. "I suppose you're," she began but Anthony cut her off.

"Hold on a minute, I'm not done looking yet," he said, pretending to be annoyed as he slipped the gauzy, pink fabric over her head and down her arms. Edith's body responded immediately, warmth and a shiver spreading through her all at once.

Anthony was always so gentle and careful with Edith, partially because it was in his nature to worry, then because she was so new to everything, and then because of the baby. Still, when she really needed him to, and when he really wanted to, Anthony could forget for a moment that she was all porcelain and silk in his eyes.

It was those times when Edith would be breathless, eager, caught off guard, and while every moment they were together was beautiful for various reasons, these were the ones that made her feel the most desirable. And when Anthony would growl involuntarily, or direct her with his great, strong hands, or kiss her like he would die if he couldn't taste her, Edith never found him more attractive.

"You're distracted," he mumbled against the skin of her neck.

"Only by you. Frankly, Anthony, it's alarming the effect you have on me."

"I'm sure it's just the hormones," he teased. He had just gotten Edith into his lap, running his hands along her bare back when her mobile went off beside them.

Checking the screen, Edith growled and rolled her eyes to Anthony. "Hello, Mama," she answered. Her voice was surprisingly steady given that Anthony was currently lingering over her right clavicle, sending shivers through her.

"Happy birthday again, darling. Edith, I was thinking," Cora began, and already Edith knew it was going to be a long conversation.

"Mama," she interrupted, trying to mask the tremble in her voice as Anthony's hands meandered slowly over her breasts. "Anthony and I are moving back to Yorkshire, soon and for good, and we're having a baby—due in January."

With that she turned off the phone and threw it across the room where it may or may not have broken in pieces. Edith didn't care. "That should keep her quiet for a while."

"Well you got over your hesitation about announcing the pregnancy, didn't you?" Anthony asked with a small laugh. "Was she pleased?"

"I didn't really wait to find out. I'm certain she will be once the shock of it all wears off."

"That's good. We may need her assistance with your father. I'm sure he'll be absolutely thrilled with irrefutable evidence that I've had my way with you," he said sarcastically.

Edith laughed, running her hands through his hair. "Dr. Strallan, I don't wish to discuss my parents or their individual thoughts regarding our love life at the moment," Edith said firmly.

"And what _would_ you like to do, birthday girl?"

"Honestly?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Honestly."

Edith looked apologetic. "I want to curl up in bed, with you, and take a nap."

"You're so difficult to please," Anthony said dryly, causing Edith to blush. "Care to know where I'm taking you for dinner?"

"Surprise me," Edith decided, nuzzling into Anthony's neck as he carried her to their bed.

"I love you, Edith Strallan."

"Mmm," Edith breathed, half asleep already. "I love you back." The last thing Edith remembered was the feeling of their cool, soft sheets, and Anthony's arm wrapping against her stomach as she finally gave in to the happy exhaustion of early motherhood, thoughts of going home filling them both with a sort of peace they hadn't realized they were missing.


	27. Violet

It didn't take long for the news of Edith and Anthony's return to travel through the Crawley line of communication. The news that they were also expecting was received with slightly less enthusiasm by everyone but Cora. Edith was anticipating an onslaught of phone calls, but instead their announcement was followed by days of silence.

"Do you really mind?" Anthony asked as they drove to Carlingford, choosing to spend the remainder of their summer at the sea house. "I should think you'd be glad for the peace."

"I don't mind, and I'm not even surprised. It rather feels like everything's in its place. I'm doing something without them, and they have no interest in it. Just as it's always been," Edith explained quietly, staring out the window at the now familiar farms and fields.

Anthony looked over at her, his dear wife, and hurt that she assumed her family didn't care. Especially when he knew how thrilled she was about the whole endeavor.

"Well, I for one am glad for a bit of quiet, fond as I am of your mother," Anthony offered, taking Edith's hand.

Their summer was spent as any idyllic summer should be—walking on the beach and reading stacks of worn old books, grilling fresh fish from the market in the back and watching the sunset from a blanket in the yard, toiling half-heartedly in the garden before giving in to their most preferred leisure activity. June bled into July, and the long-absent bump seemed to arrive overnight. On nights when it was too warm to cook, they would go into town and eat at Ma Baker's or the Carlingford Arms. On the rare day of summer storms they would spend time perusing McAleeis Newsagent for new old books (as opposed to the old old books they had at home), or curl up on the sofa, reading and talking and debating names for the baby.

When it came time to move home, the Strallans decided to leave the Carlingford house and the flat in Dublin just as they were, not wishing to dismantle them or make them any less complete than they were. Packing little more than their clothes, Edith and Anthony made the journey back to Yorkshire in mid-August, after a long and rather warm goodbye spent in their beloved Ireland.

And as Edith suspected, their first matter of business was decided by her family—a picnic to welcome them home and, Edith assumed, to examine and criticize her new life.

"Do you think they'll believe me about the baby?" Edith asked with a little laugh, standing before the mirror in the foyer of Locksley. She turned to the side, pulling her dress down to reveal her belly.

Anthony came up behind her and kissed her neck. "I suppose there's no denying it, if that's what you mean."

"I thought I would never start showing and now I'm afraid of how big it will get," she giggled.

Anthony examined her with narrowed eyes. "It sort of looks like you ate a really big sandwich."

"Feels like it too," she laughed thinly.

"What's on your mind, darling?" Anthony asked as he took the keys from the table before them. They were due at the Crawley's in twenty minutes. Cora called it the end of their honeymoon, despite Edith's protests that their time in Carlingford was much more than a vacation.

"It's the first time seeing the family since the wedding, and the baby," she said, still looking at the two of them in the mirror. Anthony was wearing khakis and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She was in a long navy maxi dress with a loose-knit coral sweater. Between the summer heat and her growing belly she practically lived in maxi dresses and peasant blouses with leggings.

"Are you nervous?" he asked, running his hands down her arms and over her stomach. Edith let her head fall back on his shoulder and smiled, admiring the appealing image of the three Strallans together in the mirror.

"Not at all nervous. It just feels strange. I feel like I'm coming back an entirely different person."

"You sort of are, Mrs. Strallan," Anthony smiled, kissing her neck again. Edith couldn't help but notice how much he smiled these days. Not that Anthony was ever a morose individual, but lately he was practically giddy.

"You seem happy, Dr. Strallan," she observed with a little laugh.

"Can you think of a single reason I shouldn't be?"

"Well, you're about to spend the next several hours with my family, namely Papa and Granny, who may or may not be less-than-thrilled about the fact that you, my darling husband, have knocked me up."

"Well when you put it like that it doesn't sound so thrilling to me either," he frowned, pulling Edith out the door. "Anyway, a baby is good news. Our child might very well be the peacemaker in our family."

"Don't get your hopes up," Edith laughed cynically, climbing into the jag.

"Darling wife," Anthony said in his most official tone, "I promise you that by the time my son arrives your father and I will be mates again."

"I'll take that wager," Edith agreed. "Given that I'm certain this one's a girl, and there's no telling when your 'son' might arrive."

"Ye of little faith," Anthony said in mock disappointment, shaking his head as he started the engine and pulled down the drive.

Hours later, Edith sighed, knowing she would owe Anthony an apology. Lounging back in an Adirondack chair, her bare feet in the thick, cool grass, she and Granny were watching the others playing croquet on the lawn. Sybbie was nearly asleep in Edith's lap as Edith rocked gently back and forth, humming into her niece's dark brown hair. The sun was low, almost entirely beneath the tree line and relieving the heat of day.

"Have you found out the sex yet?" Violet asked suddenly.

"Anthony wants to be surprised, and I can't keep a secret from him, so I have to be surprised as well."

"You look very well," Violet offered, not taking her eyes from the laughing players.

"I feel very well," Edith replied sleepily.

She was terribly relaxed, and something about watching her father pat her husband on the shoulder as Matthew and Tom fell to bits about something Anthony had said, well it felt quite surreal, and wonderful.

"Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, I realize," Violet said, "but looking back on Anthony as a younger man, and having watched you grow up, I'm surprised Robert didn't see this one coming when he arranged your meeting."

Edith looked at her Gran, surprised. Violet didn't return her gaze. "What do you mean, Gran?"

"Just that anyone who has known Anthony, and anyone who knows you, would see right away that you're rather perfect for each other."

"We think so." Edith sighed again. She was so in love with that tall man and his lopsided grin and his overgrown sense of gentlemanly honor. The melancholy Edith felt sinking in she attributed to her hormones and tried to ignore.

Violet was quiet again for a while. As the game was nearing an end she said, "Did you know your Pappy and I loved each other very much?"

"I always assumed, I suppose," Edith answered with a frown. "I never had cause to think about it, really."

"Well we did. We were absolutely mad about each other. We were only twenty when me married, and we couldn't keep our hands off each other."

Edith laughed, surprised to find herself not at all uncomfortable but more delighted by the notion of her grandparents as young, eager people.

"I was very near ridiculous when we learned Rosamund was on her way, if you can imagine that," Violet said dryly. "I had never thought of myself as a mother necessarily, but when old Dr. Hammond told me I was expecting, well it all came together."

Edith smiled, following her Gran on the little journey. She tried to picture a twenty-something Violet Crawley watching her slim figure expand as Edith's own body was doing now. She could imagine her late grandfather's guarded enthusiasm as he paced the hospital waiting room with a cigar and a perfectly pressed suit.

Edith knew Gran was telling her all this for a reason but hadn't a clue yet what that reason was. "Was it a difficult pregnancy?" she asked, taking a stab at it.

"Not in the least. I didn't get sick once, everything went according to plan. You know how fond of manners your Aunt Rosamund is, she arrived at noon on the dot the day she was due."

"What a dear," Edith laughed, absently pressing a kiss on the top of Sybbie's head.

"It didn't prevent me from worrying, though," Granny continued. "All that happiness, so unexpected and so immense. I never thought I'd love someone the way I loved Patrick. And then the miracle of a baby, made by the two of us—I couldn't figure what I'd done to deserve it."

"Oh?" Edith managed, her stomach dropping a bit.

"Oh yes," Violet nodded sagely, "I thought, 'How did I get so lucky?' I kept waiting for the bottom to fall out, for something catastrophic and unanticipated."

"And?" Edith urged.

"And it never did. I had Rosamund, and your father, and we lived a rather cushy life just the four of us. Don't get me wrong, there were trials, things to work through, life you know. Things get messy, and then you clean them up and move on. But we were happy, Patrick and I and the children. Very, very happy. And eventually I learned to stop worrying. Even when Patrick got sick."

"How?"

"By realizing," Violet said, still watching her family playing in the distance, "that the only thing worry was preventing was my enjoying what I had been blessed with, and that no matter what happened in the future we had today."

Edith let the tears stream down her face and onto her shoulders and didn't try to stop them. Without looking at her, Violet reached out and took Edith's hand into her lap.

"I like Anthony very much," Gran said definitively, patting Edith's hand with her paper thin ones, then holding it there with a squeeze.

When the sun finally gave in and put itself to bed, and the wind picked up the slightest chill, the Crawleys decided to head in for the night. Tom took Sybbie from Edith's lap with an affection only a father can manage.

"Thanks, Eed," Tom said softly, propping his daughter against his shoulder like an expert. "You're a real natural you know."

"He's right," Violet whispered as the others approached.

"Well, Anthony may be a genius at many things, but croquet is not one of them," Matthew laughed. Anthony tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugged sheepishly.

"I knew he had a fault somewhere," Mary added with an unusually warm smile. "It took us all damn day to find it."

"Well, don't take him out in a sculling boat, he'll row circles around you," Robert warned. "Anyway, Mrs. Hughes left a berry pie for dessert before she went out. Shall we?"

"Is there vanilla ice cream?" Edith asked as Anthony helped her out of the low-sitting chair. "I could kill for some ice cream."

"I remember those days," Cora said with a knowing grin, taking Edith's arm and leading her toward the house. Slightly ahead of the others as they slowly made their way across the great lawn, Cora gave Edith a little squeeze. "I'm so glad you're home, my darling. I can't wait to see you become a mother."

Edith laid her head briefly on her mother's shoulder. "I can't wait either, actually."

"And how are you feeling?"

Looking back over her shoulder, Edith watching Anthony escorting Granny as Matthew, Mary, and Robert all laughed happily together. Running a hand over her belly she looked down at her child. "I'm feeling very, very blessed, Mama. And quite relaxed, and very much at peace."

"Good," Cora smiled, patting Edith's arm. After a few moments she added tentatively, "Because I wanted to ask you about the baby shower."

Edith laughed and shook her head. "Alright Mama," she sighed, utterly resigned and unshakeable. "Just let me get my ice cream first."

As they settled into bed that night, Edith propping a pillow under her belly and kicking the linens off her bare legs, she noticed Anthony looking at her. Not in a casual way but in the way he did when he was particularly amused or delighted by something she was doing.

"What is it, Strallan? You're making me blush," she demanded, sinking into the nest of pillows around her.

"You seem much more at ease tonight. You've had me worried the last couple days, but tonight all seems well again," he said softly, resting his hand on her thigh as he laid beside her.

"I'm sorry I worried you. I was just feeling a bit too lucky, I suppose."

"As if the other foot will drop any moment?"

"Yes," Edith exclaimed, propping herself up on her elbows. "How did you know?"

"Because I've felt the same way since the first time I saw you. Wondering what I'd done to deserve you and what would happen to take it all away," he said simply, his eyes focused on her stomach.

"Well, but how," Edith sputtered, "Why didn't you say something? How are you so calm? You've been outright giddy. You haven't looked at all worried."

"I am giddy, to be honest. Being worried and being happy are not mutually exclusive, my love. And anyway, your Granny set me straight," he shrugged.

Edith laughed under her breath as she turned out the bedside lamp.

"Anthony?" she asked as she felt sleep coming quickly to take her.

"Yes, my sweet one?" His voice was heavy and tired and the arm draped across her was getting heavier.

"How do you feel about Violet if it's a girl?"

"I like it very much indeed," he whispered, leaning up to kiss Edith goodnight.


	28. October Showers

A/N: Just a bit of baby/family fluff. As always, thank you for the lovely reviews. I do appreciate them so very, very much. And thank you for continuing to follow. I do hope it's not getting to tedious. I believe there's just a small ways to go still... Happy reading! -Eleanor

* * *

Edith must have been dreaming, because she frowned suddenly in her sleep and reached out. Anthony took her hand gently, hoping not to wake her, and laughed quietly to himself as he watched her. As she rolled and settled again with her head against his arm, Anthony slipped his free hand over the rise of her belly beneath the thin bedding.

He could hear a light rain picking up against the large French windows of their bedroom, and he resigned himself to another of those blustery days they had seen so many of this October. Summer had officially ended and Locksley was alit with the gold and bronze of a North England autumn.

Anthony examined his wife in wonder, and the silver band on his own hand, and the way Edith searched for him even in her sleep. This time last year they had just met, and although he had loved her already, he never would have guessed this was all on his horizon.

And oh god how he loved her. His Edith. They had adjusted to life at Locksley, though it took some getting used to. They were both so simple in terms of what they needed that the grandeur of Locksley was a bit overwhelming at first.

The third floor remained largely unused, and it had taken Anthony a while to convince Edith they indeed needed a hired woman for the majority of the cleaning. She didn't like feeling pampered, or useless, which Anthony swore emphatically she was not. But Mrs. Ross came three times a week for standard cleaning and once a week for room-by-room needs. "Old houses like these need care, not just scrubbing," Mrs. Ross said on a nearly hourly basis.

The Strallans took a slightly larger room at the end of the hall from the one they had used during the wedding. It had a large bathroom and a closet off the left, and connected to a sitting room through a door on the right, which they were converting to the nursery.

Anthony ran his thumb over Edith's belly and grinned, foolishly he knew, but he didn't care. He'd never thought of children before he met Edith, and now he felt proud, and admittedly virile, and incandescently happy.

Entirely on schedule, as the antique clock on his bedside table clicked over to 8:00 he felt a telltale thumping against his palm.

"Mm," Edith groaned, "I don't want it to be morning yet."

"I didn't think you were awake," he chuckled, pressing a kiss into her hair as she nuzzled against him.

"I was trying not to be, but your child has other plans," she complained, running her hands over her belly until they rested over Anthony's. "And I say _your_ child because she's as infuriatingly punctual as you are."

"She does keep to a rather tight schedule, this one," he whispered. Edith, so sure they were having a girl, had always referred to the baby as "she" and Anthony had picked up the habit. Unable to resist much longer, he leaned down and kissed Edith's soft, dry lips.

She finally pulled her eyes open and laughed lightly at Anthony.

"I hate when you look at me like that. It's embarrassing," Edith muttered, sitting up with some minor effort.

"I'm not looking at you in any particular way," Anthony protested, feeling caught out.

"Right," she scoffed. Looking out the window as she stretched, Edith released a heavy sigh. "Oh, why does it have to be the twelfth?"

"Aren't you looking forward to your shower?" Anthony asked, feigning ignorance. Edith scowled at him, causing him to chuckle. "One afternoon, my darling, that's all it is. And just think of all the nice things you'll get. There may even be a surprise for you if you behave yourself."

"Is that so?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Perhaps. Anyway, just focus on the good. It'll all be over and you'll be home soon, and Mrs. Hughes will be there in your corner."

Edith closed her eyes, "Mm, and Mrs. Hughes will have made chiffon cake, and apple with brie sandwiches, and scones, and fresh fruit. That woman puts on a tea like I've never seen." Looking down at Anthony she laughed. "My life has begun to revolve around food."

"In that case, what can I get you for breakfast?" Anthony asked, rolling out of bed.

"Aren't you eating?"

"I haven't time, love. The boys are picking me up in twenty minutes. Tee-time is nine."

"Oh, right. You get to golf with the Crawley gentlemen and I get to sit on a couch while twenty women fawn over my gargantuan belly," she complained, standing and moving for her robe."

"If it's any consolation, it looks damned cold and rather damp outside. And your father will insist we finish the round come hell or high water."

"You poor dear," Edith said sarcastically. "Hurry and get ready so we can get some tea in you before you leave, alright?" she ordered before padding out of their room.

Anthony was just at the bottom of the stairs when he heard Edith call out for him. In a panic, he hurried into the foyer where he found Edith, a pile of post at her feet and a letter open in her hands.

"Jesus, woman. I thought I was going to find you keeled over. Don't do that to me," he warned, releasing the breath that had caught in his throat.

Edith, ignoring his worry, looked up with a large grin. "They've approved my manuscript, with honorable mention, and have decided to publish it on the University press!"

"Eed! Oh, love, that's fantastic," Anthony said, pulling Edith into his arms. "I couldn't be more proud," he managed before her lips were on his.

"The book's all about you. Or rather, us," she laughed against his neck. "I couldn't have written it until I found you because when I found you, I found me."

It wasn't the most eloquent thing Edith had ever said or written, but there was profundity in the casual tone with which she said it. As if there was nothing unusual about such a profession of need, of utter reliance, or interminable love.

"You say these things like they're nothing," Anthony muttered, "When really they're everything. I love you like…" He struggled for an analogy, but when he took too long Edith laughed at him.

"Don't be daft," she whispered, though she couldn't hide the equal adoration in her own expression. They were standing like that, Edith barefoot and rather round in the middle, Anthony stooped with his head pressed to hers and their hands locked, when Matthew burst in.

"Oh, sorry to intrude. Everything alright?"

"Perfect, except that you all get to go play golf, and I have to go get henpecked by Mama's friends all afternoon," Edith huffed, kissing Anthony on the cheek as he shrugged on his coat.

"Bad luck, old girl," Matthew said with a sympathetic smile. "Rough being the woman, isn't it?"

"And in three months' time it'll get a whole lot rougher," Tom added, coming up behind Matthew. "You ready Anthony? Matthew and I have a fair amount riding on the game. You're with me, so don't let me down."

"On my honor as a gentlemen," Anthony said dryly. He picked up his waiting clubs and threw them over his shoulder before kissing Edith goodbye. "See you soon, my wife the author," he whispered. Just as he stepped out into the October morning he turned back to Edith and said more loudly, "And do try to look remotely amused today, will you? For your mother's sake."

When Edith agreed to Anthony's parting request she hadn't realized how difficult it would be to keep her promise. Now, as she smiled politely at Sarah O'Brien's bony hands on her belly, Edith found herself working very hard to do anything but leave.

"You're quite large," O'Brien mused with a grin. "You must be due any day now."

"Not for another two and a half months, actually," Edith replied, subtly ducking her belly away as she reached for a plate.

"Oh, you really ought to be sitting, let someone else get that for you," fussed Mrs. Patmore, who worked for Granny when Robert was a young man. Edith was ushered to a sofa by several woman she didn't recognize.

"I'm really fine," Edith insisted, but her meager protests were drowned by a rise of oohs and oh how sweets when Cora entered dramatically with a three-tiered cake in blue and pink, decorated with yellow booties and alphabet blocks.

"A cake for my baby and her baby," Cora gushed.

"On a scale of one to your fourteenth birthday party when Larry Gray claimed to see your underwear, how mortified are you right now?" Mary asked, leaning close to Edith from behind.

"About a twelve," Edith laughed. Looking over her shoulder at Mary's mimosa, she added, "And I'm incredibly jealous that you get to drink your way through this."

"Well, I'm here, full of cynicism and bitter regret to temper all of," Mary gestured to the swooning gaggle of women and said flatly, "_that_."

"Tell me there are no games," Edith said, half-pleading.

"Something about guessing the circumference of your belly, and pin the dummy on the baby."

"Oh, this is never going to end," Edith groaned, dropping her head to the back of the sofa and her hands to her sides.

Mary laughed sympathetically. When she patted Edith's arm, Edith flinched. The sisters made awkward eye contact for a moment before Mary shrugged. "What? I'm not pure evil, you know."

"No, I just don't get to see that un-evil one percent very often," Edith joked.

Mary looked into her drink sadly. "We're all each other has now," she muttered.

It was true, of course. Ever since Edith and Anthony had returned Mary had been different. It was a slow change, and not always easy it seemed, but gradually and incrementally, Mary and Edith were learning to be sisters, and friends, and each of them was quietly grateful for it.

"So, Edith dear," old Mrs. Jarvis said with a toothy smile, unconcerned with interrupting a private conversation. "Never thought between you and Mary you'd be the first to have a baby."

"I think she just got both of us in one go," Mary whispered, causing Edith to stifle a giggle .

"Well, it was a very welcome surprise," Edith said generically.

"Oh my, is that why you married in such a hurry? You know, we were wondering when the invite came. Of course that Mr. Strallan of yours does have a nice home, doesn't he? And your mother mentioned properties in Ireland and Scotland or some such thing?"

"It's Dr. Strallan, actually," Mary corrected before Edith had a chance to speak. Glancing at her older sister, Edith recognized the flush in her perfect cheeks and realized, with some surprise, that she was legitimately offended. Mary Crawley, defensive of Edith's marriage. It was almost too much to comprehend.

"Oh, is that so? How lovely. You did very well for yourself indeed, Edith, for such a shy little thing," Mrs. Jarvis said without a hint of malice.

"Oh, god," Mary growled under her breath. "Excuse us, I'm going to help my shy, hapless sister to the restroom."

Edith found herself being hoisted from the sofa and pulled down the hall into one of the smaller sitting rooms. Mary shut the door behind them, and then both women burst into disbelieving laughter.

"Were Mama's friends always this stuffy?" Edith asked, stretching her back.

"In all fairness, Mrs. Jarvis is granny's friend. Mama's friends are all snobs and collectors of great art and blah-blah-blah. I almost didn't come today."

"I'm glad you did," Edith muttered.

"I wouldn't leave my worst enemy with that lot for too long."

They laughed thinly again before a silence fell between them.

"Actually, I do have ulterior motives for wanting you to myself," Mary confessed. Edith's face dropped slightly, but Mary wagged a hand at her. "No, no, nothing bad. I just," she hesitated. "I have a favor to ask."

"That may be a first," Edith said quietly. "Ask away."

"Can we, the family I mean, all have Christmas at the sea house again this year?"

Edith had not expected that. She gaped a moment, then shut her mouth and frowned. She was not opposed, at all, but simply taken aback and struck a bit speechless.

"Because you see, I've been thinking about it a lot," Mary said quickly, "and about family," she added, reaching for Edith's belly. "It was the last holiday we had with Sybil, and it was such a good time aside from that morning, which I'd like to mend anyway. And I think it would be so cozy, and with the baby, and Mama and Papa would get to see it, and Granny if she'll go."

"Yes," Edith said, stopping her sister's frantic reasoning. "I mean, I'll be close to my due date, but yes. I think it's a lovely idea. Yes, of course."

Mary looked visibly relieved. She took a deep breath and squeezed Edith's hand. "Oh, thank you. I really, well it felt important somehow."

"Have you told the parents?"

"No, but they'll like it, I'm sure. And you don't think Anthony will mind?"

"Not a bit. He'll be tickled. We love that house. We'll invite Gertrude, of course, and you should ask Isobel to come along. I don't know where we'll put everyone, but yes."

"Oh Edith, thank you," Mary sighed, throwing her arms around Edith in the first sincere hug either could remember sharing. "Thank you, sister."

When Edith arrived home that evening, she was quite at ease. The rest of the shower had seemed more manageable with Mary being so pleasant. And Cora really did seem happy with the whole situation. Especially when Mrs. Hughes came in with baby Sybbie so Cora could really show off her grandmotherly prowess.

"Anthony, my love, I'm back," Edith called, dropping her keys on the entry table. She shook her head. In a house this size, calling rarely garnered a response.

"About bloody time," came an unexpected voice from the library. Edith turned to find Gertrude waiting, arms open. "I've been waiting here all afternoon with no one but my stuffy brother to keep me company."

"Gertie!" Edith cried, rushing to her. "Oh, Anthony said I'd have a surprise if I behaved myself."

"Behaving is for dullards and weaklings," Gertrude laughed. Pulling Edith into the library, where Anthony was beaming with the success of his surprise, Gertrude gave Edith a squeeze and commanded, "Now come, little rabbit, and tell me all about this baby. And also, am I to understand you're now a published author?"

As they sat, before Edith could address all the questions the demanding Gertrude was lining up, Anthony leaned over the back of the sofa to kiss Edith's ear and whispered, "Happy baby shower, sweet one."


	29. Reason

It was the first real fight they had ever had as a married couple, and even then it wasn't that bad. Still, neither party was really enjoying the feeling.

"I understand why you said yes, and why you'd like to have the holidays in Carlingford," Anthony said. He was frowning, his posture was stiff, and Edith could tell he was working hard to subdue the frustration in his tone. "All I'm saying is that being so close to your due date, I think it's unwise to travel."

"And I'm saying that it will be three weeks before I'm due, and I'm not an invalid," Edith countered, her expression obstinate and her voice rising. "And I would appreciate it if you could manage to stop making decisions for me."

"I'm not making any decisions, I just want you to be reasonable."

"Now I'm unreasonable?" Edith shrieked. "Unreasonable? Because I want to spend Christmas with my family and my husband in a place I love?"

"Edie," Anthony tried, taking a deep breath, "Please try to understand me."

"I understand you, Anthony, I just don't agree with you. Just because I don't accept what you say doesn't mean I'm too dense to understand its meaning."

Anthony dropped his head, exasperated. They were standing in their library, squared off on either side of the fireplace. Gertrude had long-since excused herself to bed, eager not to witness the row. When Edith reiterated Mary's request as they caught up on their days, she had been shocked at Anthony's response.

Now, as tears threatened and her face was hot with rage, Edith couldn't figure out how she'd gotten so mad so quickly. Looking at Anthony, she knew he was only worried for her, and that most people would see travel so late in a pregnancy as a mistake. But still, she felt the need to remind him that she wasn't a child or incapable of taking care of herself.

"Sweetheart, I'm not suggesting you are unreasonable or otherwise unsound of mind. All I'm saying is that for a woman 36 weeks pregnant to leave the country and host a dozen people on holiday sounds like a very bad idea. Especially when we can have Christmas here just as easily, and happily, without risk," Anthony said. All the tension had left his shoulders, his body language was relaxed, and his voice gentle.

"I know," Edith finally admitted, though it was with a little growl. "I know. But Anthony, it was the last place we went with Sybil, and the first place I realized I wanted to spend my life with you. And really, the thought of having our traditional Grantham holiday over at Mama and Papa's _without_ my baby sister is rather unbearable."

"But Edith," Anthony began, his voice barely above a whisper. As he tried to form an argument, Edith bridged the gap between them, tentatively wrapping her arms around his waist. She laid her head against his chest, sniffing back the tears that had finally started to fall.

"Please, Anthony?" she pleaded. Feeling him hesitate, Edith looked up to meet his eyes.

And with that Anthony Strallan was beat. He couldn't say no to his Edith, not when she looked so sad and imploring, and felt so small against him, and so very pregnant.

"You'll have to check in with Clarkson before we leave," Anthony said, trying to place a contingency should he feel wiser and stronger later on.

"Yes, Doctor Strallan," Edith agreed, stretching on her toes to kiss his jaw.

"And if he says you're unfit to travel I won't hear one word of argument. I'll chain you to the bed if I must," Anthony added.

"Well that does sound intriguing," Edith said quietly, moving her lips to his neck.

"Edith, stop that. I'm trying to be angry with you," Anthony said. But his hands were already moving over her back, pulling her against him.

"I'm so sorry." Her hand slipped below his sweater, running along his lower back.

The feeling of her warm touch against his bare skin was still enough to rattle him. "You can't always do this, you know," he managed.

"Do what?" she asked innocently.

"You know bloody well what," he huffed. "Turn your great brown eyes on me, filled with tears, to get what you want and then seduce me to make me forget that I was right all along."

"I'm sorry," she said again, pecking his cheek and stepping back.

"Well now what are you doing?" he demanded petulantly.

"I'm stopping," she answered with a little frown.

"Oh no you don't, I'm not done being angry yet." For the first time in twenty minutes Anthony finally gave that lopsided grin of his.

"Yes, Dr. Strallan," Edith submitted with a laugh.

In their room, they undressed quickly, eager to get to the making up.

"You know," Anthony mused, his words slightly muffled against Edith's breasts. "I think we may need to bicker more often if this is to follow."

"No," Edith said, pulling Anthony's face up so she could kiss his lips. "No, I don't intend on fighting with you again. Now that we've come to an agreement I'll admit, that whole fight was ninety percent hormones."

"Can't say I'll miss those when the baby is born," he laughed. Anthony stood at the edge of the bed, pulling Edith to him by her legs.

Making love had become somewhat of an engineering puzzle now that Edith was into her third trimester. Most of their favorite positions were now largely impossible because of the growing protrusion of their child. Still, it was a challenge they gladly accepted.

"Mm-hmm," was the extent of Edith's reply. Hands cupped behind her knees, Anthony sank into her, effectively ending their banter.

"Are you," he said, controlling himself and keeping the tempo slow, "are you alright?"

"Mm-hmm," Edith said again, biting her lip.

"I could," Anthony began, but Edith wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him tighter against her. She reached out, taking his hands in hers, and then stretched her arms to the side, forcing Anthony's face close to her.

"Don't even think about it," she warned. Her eyes closed of their own volition as she pressed her cheek to his.

"Wait for me darling," Anthony reminded gently as Edith's grip tightened and her cries became more audible.

Edith really did try. But typical of their relationship, she finished first while the interminably patient Anthony followed dutifully and diligently after her. He helped Edith resituate, climbing under the covers after her to lace his arms around her.

"I just worry, you know," he said quietly against her ear as they settled against the pillows, as if they were just finishing their previous conversation.

"I know, my love. I promise it will be fine," Edith whispered. "And I won't go if Clarkson doesn't give the okay."

"Thank you."

Anthony laughed to himself when he looked down to find his wife was already asleep.

The next morning everything seemed a bit brighter to Edith. Of course, that was due in large part to Gertrude's presence at their breakfast table. The three of them had laughed through the entire meal, a reminder of how well they got on.

"I suppose I should get to business," Gertie said suddenly, pouring herself another cup of tea.

"Business? Gert, you detest business," Anthony laughed.

"Well, hold tight because I've come to talk logistics with you."

Edith and Anthony exchanged glances, and Edith shrugged. "What logistics?" she asked, running a hand over her belly.

"I've been thinking. I know I said I could never leave the farm because of Joan, but I was wrong. She's not there, you know, in the things. She's wherever I am, really. And anyway, I'm getting to old to keep up with it all on my own."

"What are you saying, Gertie?" Anthony asked, placing a hand on his sister's shoulder.

"I think I want to sublease the farm."

Anthony nodded, immediately ready to help. "Sure, Gert. I can get that sorted. Where will you go?"

"Here, of course," Edith answered. Both women smiled at each other as if Anthony was silly for not seeing it sooner. "Where else would she be?"

"Oh, Gertrude!" Anthony heaved, looking from his wife to his sister. "Would you really? I mean you'll come home?"

"Well I had put Locksley on my list of options," Gertrude said coolly, looking down. Edith thought she even detected a hint of a blush on the older woman's cheeks.

"It's your home too, you know," Edith said.

"Perhaps it is now that you're both here. And anyway, I don't want to be so far away from that baby."

"Really, Gert," Anthony said, still pleasantly shocked, "I just couldn't think of anything more perfect. I'll take care of everything. I'll get my solicitor to handle the lease and all the paperwork. You'll just need to pack up whatever you like and come home. We can hire a truck to do the hauling."

"You're sure you two won't mind? Because I hate to intrude—" Gertrude began.

"On what? There are a dozen rooms that don't even have furniture in them. It's not like we'll be on top of each other. And even if we lived in a two-bedroom cottage we'd want you with us," Anthony said quickly.

"And if you're talking about the 'honeymoon phase,' I assure you, it would take a great deal more than your moving in to dampen that," Edith added, causing Anthony to blush.

"I'm going to go call my man now and get started on the arrangements," Anthony stuttered, changing the subject and excusing himself in one deft move.

Left alone in the dining room, Edith took Gertrude by the hand. "I'm so happy we get to keep you here."

"I never thought I'd feel at home at Locksley, not after our childhood, but I dare say I'm going to be quite content indeed. Thanks, rabbit."

"You needn't thank me," Edith said, laughing inwardly at how like her husband she sounded.

The two women watched each other for a moment before Edith let out an "oomph."

"Here," Edith said, pulling Gertrude's hand to her stomach. "This is what wakes me up every morning. And keeps me up all day, I might add."

"Feisty little bugger," Gertie said with a wide grin, feeling the baby against her palm.

"Gets it from you, I suppose."

"Poor Anthony, he's going to get it from all angles when I move in, isn't he?" Gertrude laughed. "And from this little one to boot. Have you thought of any names?"

Edith chewed her lip. "We talked about Violet. I was thinking Gertrude, maybe as the middle name."

Gertie straightened, looking fairly scandalized. "Don't you dare. No child deserves to go through life with a name as unattractive is _Gertrude_," she scolded, pronouncing her name with particular disgust.

"It's a fine name," Edith protested. "And anyway, I'm sure it's a girl so what else would you suggest?"

"I don't know. Something sweet, and feminine. I like Violet. But name her Gert and I'll never forgive you."

Edith laughed, finishing the last bite of her toast. "You're as stubborn as I am."

"Lord, I wouldn't go that far," Gertie replied with a wink. "Did you and Anthony get things sorted last night?"

"Yes. Sorry we scared you off to bed."

"You didn't. Anyway, it's good for a couple to fight once in a while. You and Anthony are so compatible, that'll probably last you for another ten years or so," Gertie laughed.

As promised, Anthony spent the morning and well into the afternoon arranging things with his solicitor. Gertrude really did abhor such things, a result, Anthony had said, of a childhood at the mercy of such a keen businessman as the cruel George Strallan. While they waited for Anthony to finish with the last of his calls, Edith and Gertrude decided to take a long, easy stroll among the grounds.

"It wasn't altogether unhappy, growing up here," Gertrude explained, her arm locked with Edith's. The sun was out, warming the autumn air enough to be quite comfortable. "I had Anthony, and I adored him."

"I think you saved him, Gertrude. I really do. The little bits of information Anthony has dropped here or there, about your father and the coldness of your mother, well it amazes me how kind and sweet he is, and I think it's because of you."

"Oh, tosh," Gertrude said dismissively. "He was born that way. Of course, if we go around telling him things like that it'll just go to spoil in him."

"Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Edith laughed.

After another long silence Gertrude stopped and took a deep breath, looking all around. They were on a gravel path between the back garden and the east orchard, a part of the yard that rose up just enough to offer rather expansive views of the estate.

"I should think it will be very fine indeed, coming back here, making new memories with your lot," Gertie said, more to herself than with Edith.

Edith followed Gertrude's gaze over the east lawn. In an instant she pictured their lives together—Edith, Anthony, and Gertrude, little ones running around, perhaps Sybbie as well, and maybe a child from Mary to keep the others on their toes. She could imagine bringing their daughter home for the first time, Anthony nervous and attentive, Gertrude pretending to be gruff and all the while falling to pieces. She imagined the upcoming Christmas, and the many to follow, the children dragging their aunt downstairs in the early morning, eager to see what Father Christmas brought.

"What is it, rabbit?" Gertrude asked, bringing Edith from her reverie.

"Do you realize that moving in here also makes you an honorary member of the Crawley family too? That you're going to be part of this big, crazy family?"

Edith looked serious, apologetic even, as she turned back to Gertrude. The older woman grinned wryly. "Edith, if you think a bunch of Crawleys are going to send me packing you don't know me very well."

"And you're coming to Carlingford with us for Christmas?"

"Of course I am. Someone has to serve as the voice of reason."

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so much for your reviews and for continuing to read. I just can't tell you how much it means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!


	30. The Holiday Pt III

Edith was enjoying her success so immensely that she felt a constant giddy urge to giggle. With Matthew, Mary, Violet and Isobel at the Inn, Tom and the Baby in the nursery, Cora and Robert in one guest room and Gertrude in the other, everyone had fit quite comfortably. Christmas and Boxing Day had been full of games and food, the days after spent much the same way with plenty of naps and long walks. The plan was to spend New Year's Eve at the pub with the rest of the village, experiencing at least a little madness of the holiday.

"You look pleased with yourself," Mary said, handing Edith another dish to dry. It was December 30, and everyone was settling in for the night. Matthew had just returned from dropping Isobel and Granny at the Inn, so he, Robert, Anthony, and Tom were getting started on a game of hearts.

Edith didn't take her eyes off the four of them. "It's been a good holiday. Even Tom seems in high spirits. And Little Sybbie was damn adorable in her Christmas dress. Granny can't even complain about this one."

Cora, who was scrubbing the dishes Mary was rinsing, smiled. "My darlings. Doesn't it seem as though Sybil's here a bit?" Both daughters turned to their mother, everyone feeling rather sentimental.

"You lot look like you need some shaking up," Gertrude said, coming into the kitchen to refill her wine glass. Edith smiled, grateful to her sister-in-law for always managing to lighten the mood.

"No, but we do need someone to put away dishes," Edith said with a little pert.

"Alright, alright, don't get yourself upset. Rather not have that baby on the kitchen floor," Gertie joked, though she patted Edith's belly with her hidden softness.

"How on earth did you get Clarkson to agree to travel?" Cora asked.

Edith shrugged. "Fluids were plenty, baby wasn't too far down, I wasn't remotely dilated." When Gertie and Cora exchanged skeptical glances Edith said under her breath, "And I may have threatened his chances with Isobel."

"Isobel and the Doc?" Gertrude blurted.

"Gertie, it's been a long time since you left Grantham Village, I can tell," Mary offered by way of reply. Gertie and the Crawley women laughed together, and again Edith was stricken with that warm giddiness.

Happiness, she realized, is what it was. The same happiness she felt each time she was near Anthony, only this time it applied to her family. Never in her whole life had she expected to love them like this. And that Gert was there with them, and Anthony was rather chummy with Robert and the boys—it was all so much more than she expected it. It was…family.

Done with the dishes, Edith and the others moved to the living room to relax while the boys finished their game.

"You know, after last year I was going to insist that you buy a television and some movies for this place, but I'm rather glad it's just us and old board games and the fire," Mary admitted, helping Edith sink down onto the sofa.

"It is rather cozy and old-fashioned," Cora said, taking a seat next to Gertie on the hearth.

"I do love this house," Edith said, "We both do. Anthony and I."

"Well maybe we can make it a new tradition. Holidays here from now on."

"Really?" Edith asked, annoyed with herself that she was tearing up. "Oh, Mama. That would be wonderful."

"Hey," Robert called from across the room. "Isn't there some custom about not planning next Christmas until this one is over?"

"Not in this family," Cora retorted sharply without looking at him.

"You all will have to come in the summer for a long weekend as well," Anthony suggested, laying down his play. "It's lovely up here in the summer."

"I rather like the idea of us taking holidays as a family," Tom said, and no one took for granted that he considered them family now.

And so the evening carried on. Eventually the boys finished their game, joining the others for conversation on the sofa. When the large antique clock on the mantle chimed eleven Gertrude stood and announced, "Alright, all. I think that's my queue to turn in."

A general hum of agreement rose as the others stood and stretched and chatted. Edith held her hands out to Anthony, knowing full well she wouldn't be able to heave herself off the couch.

"Anthony!" Robert called as Anthony hoisted her up. "Where on earth did you get these?" he asked with a laugh, examining some old photos hung on the wall in black frames. Anthony looked over, still holding one of Edith's hands as she stood before him, to see which pictures Robert was referring to. He didn't notice Edith's face go a little blank, and didn't register the tightening of her grip.

"In a box of things in the attic. Edith found them, actually."

"Cora," Robert said, sounding rather like a little boy, "Come and look. You're in this one. And you're wearing bellbottoms."

All heads turned to the photos, eager to see Robert, Cora, and Anthony in their early years.

Edith was not so concerned with Anthony's tanned rowing body or Robert's beard as the others were. She was quite distracted, in fact, by the current twinge in her lower abdomen. As the pain went, and Edith straightened, she thought maybe it was some trapped wind, or even a strained muscle. Releasing Anthony's hand so he could join in the banter, she sighed in relief.

And then a new sensation hit her.

"Oh, god, Mama, what were you wearing?" Mary laughed, standing with the others.

"Anthony, you were quite trim. How'd Cora pick this chubby prig over you?" Robert joked, laughing at himself.

"Anthony," Edith said meekly, trying to break through the din of laughter.

"Say, have you got a whole box of stuff like this?" Matthew asked. "I think I'd like to see that."

"Anthony," Edith tried again.

"I think Gert would be the one to ask if you want the really embarrassing stuff. Like my thirteenth birthday when Robert split my lip in a fist fight. We looked like a couple of convicts."

"Anthony!" Edith finally snapped, causing her husband to jump slightly.

"So sorry, love, what is it?" he asked with a confused frown.

Edith ignored the other six faces that turned to her. "I think I owe you a rather large apology."

"Whatever for?" he laughed.

"You were right, and I'm sorry," she said calmly, her face slightly pleading. "And my waters just broke."

Anthony's eyes widened a fraction while everyone else's traveled slowly to her belly. Other than a stray gasp of unknown origin, the silence seemed to last for an eternity as Edith waited for his reaction.

Taking her hand firmly Anthony nodded once and said, quite authoritatively, "Matthew. Would you be so good as to go and fetch your mother? I have a feeling Isobel might be of some use. You might let Granny know what's going on and give her the option of tagging along. Mary, perhaps you could go put new linens on our bed. You'll find clean sheets in the hall closet."

Both Mary and Matthew muttered numb replies before rushing to their assigned tasks.

"Tom, could you please use my laptop in the library to find the nearest midwife or doctor? Someone who can get here."

"Right, mate," Tom nodded and was off.

"Robert, could you please see to gathering fresh towels and things? Bring them to mine and Edith's room. You might have to start a load for the towels, being there's been so many of us in the house."

"Indeed," was Robert's reply, though his color had gone a little gray.

Anthony could see that Edith had begun to tear up, her breaths were coming in long draws through her nose and out her mouth. And she was terrified. He could see it in her great brown eyes that were locked with his. "Cora, could you please help my wife into a clean nightgown or one of my t-shirts, whatever is most comfortable."

"A shower," Edith said suddenly, sniffling, "I want to take a hot shower first."

"Alright, my sweet one. Cora—a hot shower, and then some fresh clothes."

Cora nodded quickly, stepping up and putting an arm around Edith, rubbing her back and leading her to the bedroom.

"Anthony?" Edith asked. Her eyes were so frightened, so questioning.

"Edie, sweetheart, it's fine. We've plenty of time, we've plenty of manpower, right? And it's you and me. There's nothing we can't do." Anthony even managed a smile, reassuring her.

"I shouldn't have insisted we come. You were right, I'm so, so sorry. We don't even have clothes or diapers or the moses basket," she rambled, losing her fight against the tears.

"Darling, you're not to worry about a thing aside from staying relaxed and as comfortable as you can." Anthony took her chin in his hand and kissed her cheek. Smiling coyly he added, "Anyway, we do have all of those things—the clothes and the diapers and the moses basket—because I packed it all just in case."

Edith laughed through her tears, wiping her face and stepping into his arms. "I will never, ever, ever complain about you worrying or over-preparing ever, ever again, I swear," she blubbered.

"I'll hold you to that, dearest," he chuckled, kissing her hairline. He made eye contact with a rather business-like Cora and nodded. "Now go, darling, let you mother help you. I'm going to get some things together and then I'll come find you, alright?"

Edith nodded, pulling herself from him and allowing her mother to lead her down the hall. The moment she was out of sight Anthony turned to the last person in the room. "Gert, care to help me?"

Gertrude followed Anthony outside into the sharp air and the dark of the drive. The moment they were alone, Gertrude spoke. "You're quite calm, Brother."

Anthony bent slightly, placing one hand on each knee and dropped his head to breathe, as if he'd just finished a jog. "Gertrude, I'm so panicked I can hardly see straight," he croaked. His breaths came out in white tufts in the frigid winter night. She frowned in thought for a moment and then shrugged.

"Well, Sprout" Gertrude said in her no-nonsense tone, causing Anthony to look up at her, "You put that baby in there, you can damn-well get it out too."

Anthony, despite the nerves and the adrenaline coursing through him, laughed out loud. Somehow, looking into the steady gray eyes of his older sister, Anthony knew everything would be alright. "God I'm glad you're here to see me through this," he heaved, throwing his arms around his sister.

"You? Don't be such a baby. Edith's the one who's got to 'go through this.' Your contribution was rather easy, I dare say," she teased in that feigned-toughness she put on. But she did hug him back.

"Alright," he sighed, feeling refreshed. "I'm going to go check on Edith. Would you please grab the moses basket from the back of the car? It has everything in it."

"Sure, Sprout," Gertrude nodded, patting his cheek. "You just worry about that beautiful wife and her baby."

Two hours later everyone had completed Anthony's assignments and all but Cora and Isobel were sipping coffee in the living room. Edith was bracing herself on the edge of the mattress as Anthony kneaded the small of her back, working through another contraction.

"They're really coming fast," Edith huffed, exhaling deeply through the end of her pain.

"Still five minutes apart," Isobel assured, "You've time yet."

"Just be glad it isn't taking forty hours like your big sister did," Cora said, wiping Edith's forehead with a damp cloth and rubbing her shoulder.

"Any word yet on the midwife?" Anthony asked.

Isobel shook her head. "Closest midwife is an hour away, and when we reached them the husband said she was out on another call. Looks like it's just us. But I promise you, we'll be fine. And should anything look remotely out of the ordinary we'll call for an airlift, alright?"

"Isobel," Edith said, straightening stiffly between contractions. "If you can get me through this I'll throw a parade in your honor."

"Not necessary, my love. It's an honor, really. And a nurse never forgets, I promise. We'll be just fine."

With each contraction Anthony saw the determination in his wife's eyes, the quiet certitude, and it amazed him. Even red-faced and in pain, she looked beautiful, and watching her brave through each bout of labor, he knew he would never doubt her or take her for granted. God, he loved her.

Another hour passed, and then another. Matthew and Robert were dozing on the couch while Mary coolly flipped through a magazine and Tom stared blankly out the window.

Everyone knew it would be hard for him, this experience compared to the one that brought little Sybbie into the world. Three times he went and checked on his sleeping daughter. It was perfect that Edith and Anthony had furnished the room next to theirs as a nursery before they left. Now Sybbie was sleeping peacefully in the crib, looking just like her mother.

Just as the sun was coming over the back lawn, casting pink and gold light onto the frosty hills and through the window of their bedroom, Isobel said it was time to push. She and Cora were busy with last minute preparations, getting the blankets and towels ready and such.

Edith was admittedly terrified, and exhausted. "I don't know if I can," she whispered to Anthony, clutching his hand desperately.

"Oh, I do," he said with authority. "I do, because you never fail to surprise me, or impress me, and what you've done tonight, my darling, is wholly impressive. Look how far you've come."

"Anthony, I don't know if I'm ready to be a mother."

"Of course you are. You're just scared is all. And it's alright, it's perfectly alright to be scared. Just trust me. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, and I promise you that you can do this."

From the doorway Mary cleared her throat, causing both Strallans to turn. "Gertrude has gone to pick up Granny. Just so she's here when, when the time comes," she managed, looking rather emotional.

Just as Mary was turning to leave, Edith called to her. "Would you like to stay?"

Mary looked downright stricken. "You, um… You would let me?"

Edith nodded, tears falling silently down both sister's cheeks. Mary slipped her sweater off, rolled up the sleeves of her cotton shirt, and sat stiffly on the other side of Edith. But when Edith took her sister's hand, all of Mary's iciness fell away, and she even grew a rather dopey smile.

"Right then," Isobel said softly, "Edith, with your next contraction, put your chin to your chest and push through your bottom with all your might, okay?"

It seemed like ages to the people in that room, and to everyone in the little house by the sea just north of Carlingford. But there, at 6:57 in the morning on December 31, Mary in one hand and Anthony in the other, Edith gave one final push and brought her child into the world.

"Oh, well done Edith! Very well done," Isobel beamed at the new mother as Edith collapsed into Anthony's chest and caught her breath. "You've a little girl."

Anthony looked down at his wife, very much at a loss for words. Instead he just kissed her over and over as they laughed together against each other's lips.

Isobel cut the cord, cleaned the baby quickly and handed her off to Mary. That Mary was the first aside from Isobel to hold her niece was enough to make a permanent bond between the two. "Oh god," Mary whispered, bouncing the baby and looking at her with a strange reverence. "Oh, she is beautiful. And all Strallan, I dare say." Mary was nearly undone by the time she had crossed the room to hand the newborn off to her parents.

Taking the little bundle gingerly between them, Edith and Anthony Strallan looked down on their daughter, who was awake, alert, and unusually calm. "Oh hello my little darling, hello," Edith said softly, supporting her daughter with one hand and holding Anthony's face close to hers with the other. Anthony ran his fingers over her cheeks and hands. "Oh, we're you're mum and dad. Hi."

Anthony didn't fight the tears falling from his face, or the elation that bubbled up out of him in a series of delirious laughs. "Hello my daughter," he chuckled. Kissing Edith's cheek he asked, "What do you think, Mum? Worth it?"

"Oh yeah," Edith giggled. After a few moments, Edith looked up to find Cora and Mary hand-in-hand, looking on. Isobel was still in nurse mode, and Edith realized they weren't quite done yet.

"Husband, why don't you take Isobel Violet off to meet her uncles and grandpa? We've got the last bit to finish up here and you don't need to see that," Edith suggested. It wasn't exactly the name they had discussed, but a quick glance between them was agreement enough. Isobel the first blushed visibly before continuing with orders for Edith.

The early morning sunlight was filtering through the hall window casting a bright beam across the dark hardwood floor. As Anthony walked slowly, meticulously careful, with his daughter in his arms he didn't bother looking at the photos on the walls.

Photos of him and Gertie as children, of his boarding school days, of his college years. Added to them in the last months were pictures of Edith too, and her growing up. And finally of the two of them on their adventures to Wicklow and Galway and Wexford and Sligo, in the orchards at Locksley or of their weddings. All the living those framed photos documented, the lives both separate and intertwined, it was all there in the soft, pink face and large blue eyes of his daughter.

Turning the corner of the hall and stepping into the light of the living room, Anthony looked up from his child to see the anticipation in the faces of those who waited—his family, for better or worse. Cora and Mary followed just behind him to join the others.

"We have a daughter," Anthony announced, "Isobel Violet. Edith's doing beautifully."

Gertrude and Cora were hugging and crying, Robert was beaming and shaking hands with Anthony and Tom, Mary had tucked into Matthew with a dreamy sort of sentimental smile, and Violet was trying her best not to looked too moved by the choice of names. Down the hall Edith was getting cleaned up and comfortable and soon everyone would be able to breathe and relax and even get some rest.

And in that moment, Anthony realized he had never been happier, more fulfilled, or so full of love.

* * *

A/N: The Strallans are officially a family now! Thank as always for reading, and for your generous reviews. It really does mean so much!


	31. How Far Our First Kiss

Most of the Crawleys returned to Yorkshire after the excitement over the unexpected arrival died down. Anthony wouldn't hear of traveling for at least two weeks, if not longer, so Gertrude and Cora stayed in Carlingford to lend the new parents a hand. It was well into February when a rather exhausted but well-adjusted Edith and Anthony brought their daughter home to Locksley for the first time.

"Welcome home, _ma Belle_," Anthony said softly, setting her car seat on the floor of the foyer as Edith trudged in behind him with the baby bag and moses basket.

Edith smiled. Anthony had immediately and inexplicably started speaking to his daughter in French about twenty minutes after she was born. It didn't take long for the proud father to shorten Isobel to Belle, 'His beauty,' he had explained. At first Edith was opposed, but when Gertrude and Cora picked up the nickname she realized the battle had been lost. And her daughter was indeed a beauty, so Edith accepted it.

Gertrude followed after, arms full of bags. "Gert, I can get those," Anthony offered distractedly. He and Edith were looking down at their daughter, still sleeping, arms around each other's waists.

Gertrude watched them skeptically for a moment, the dreamy little pair so enamored with their child. "No, no. You two enjoy this moment of peace and tranquility while it lasts. Your little bundle of love there is sweet while she's sleeping. In thirty minutes she's going to wake up hungry and you'll have to hear about it. I give it until dinner tonight before she's running this entire place."

"She is decidedly the boss," Anthony conceded.

Without looking away Edith observed softly, "Must be hard for you to give up the position as family crank and dictator, Gertie."

"Oh, well," Gertrude sighed sarcastically, coming around to look at the little pink object of their discussion. "It would be probably, if I didn't love the bug so damn much."

Edith laughed lightly. She was practically glowing from contentment, and Anthony had never seen her look lovelier despite the dark circles under her eyes.

"Alright, I'm going to finish unloading the car," Gertie said, moving toward the door again. But Edith quickly reached out and snatched her arm, pulling Gertrude to her side.

"No," Edith said, pulling Gertie's arm around her so that she had Anthony on one side and his sister on the other. She laid her head down on Gertie's shoulder. "No, just let me enjoy this for a minute—my family all together, back home where they belong."

"Oh, rabbit," Gertrude whispered, kissing Edith's hair as Anthony's hand patted his sister's shoulder.

As Gertrude predicted, it wasn't long before the demands of a new born broke them all from their little moment.

By the time Edith and Anthony's first anniversary came around, all of Locksley was quite infatuated with the girl, who was looking more and more like her father by the day. Her hair was so blonde it was nearly white, and her large eyes were the same shade of sea glass as Anthony's. She had inexplicably dark eyelashes, which Edith said was a blessing from Mother Nature Herself, and anyone the Strallans ran into in town practically went to pieces over her.

"There's no doubt denying the paternity of this one," Gertrude laughed, playing with Belle. Gertie had the baby on Edith's bed, making faces at the little one to make her coo and smile. Edith was sitting at her vanity getting ready.

"Paternity, no. But I'm starting to wonder if I'm really her mother," Edith quipped, pinning back her hair.

Gertrude laughed. "Oh no. She may look like Anthony, but I'll bet my life she has your attitude."

"I have an attitude?" Edith asked, one eyebrow quirked, turning in her chair to eye Gertrude.

"Oh, you're going to deny it?" was the older woman's response. "Keep in mind, rabbit, that by attitude I mean gumption and maybe a hint of stubbornness, possibly even obstinacy?"

"Right," Edith snorted, "and no one would _ever_ accuse a Strallan of being pig-headed."

"Well, regardless, I think our little Belle here is going to rule the roost."

"She already does," Edith laughed. Closing the lid on her jewelry box she stood suddenly and turned to face Gertie. "Well?" she asked, holding up her hands, "How do you like me? Will I do?"

Gertrude sat up, absently offering a knuckle for Belle to gnaw on. At four months she was always in search of something to gum.

Edith was wearing a tight-fitting dress in a shimmery sort of gold fabric. It had cap-sleeves and a high neck, but dipped low in the back and fell mid-thigh, offering Edith's usual combination of modesty and allure. Her wavy hair was slightly more controlled and pulled back on one side to reveal the diamond studs Anthony had surprised her with months earlier. The only other bit of jewelry she wore was a simple tennis bracelet, borrowed from Mary for the night.

"Oh, you'll do just fine. Though I have a feeling you could wear a burlap sack and he'd be pleased. Where are you going anyway?"

"I don't know. He wants it to be a surprise. Silly really," Edith said, blushing.

"Oh, tosh. It's your first anniversary. Let him make a fuss, and then you can go right back to the boring old couple you always were."

"Boring indeed," Edith huffed. "Well, I have a few tricks up my sleeve tonight. He's not the only one with surprises." Edith slipped on her heels and walked over to the bed, scooping up her daughter.

"Do tell," Gertrude urged.

"Nope," Edith said, pressing her nose to Belle's head as she nuzzled her. "Tonight, for perhaps the first time ever, Anthony will be the first in the loop. We'll tell you all the details of the evening tomorrow at breakfast."

"Very well," Gertie sighed.

"And you, my darling daughter, will be very good for your Aunt Gertie, and Mummy and Daddy are going to miss you terribly while we're away." Handing the baby back to Gertrude Edith said, "I've managed two 6-oz bottles, they're in the fridge, but if you need more her formula's in the baby bag. We should be back long before her 2-am feeding, so don't feel like you need to stay up or anything."

"Alright. Run along now. You know how Anthony likes to be on time."

"Thanks for watching her, Gert."

"It's no trouble, love. Now go."

Anthony was waiting by the door, both their coats in hand, in his best navy suit that made Edith's knees go a little weak. When he turned around he gave Edith a strange smile that made her falter.

"Is it too much?" she asked looking down. "I'm finally not horrified by my post-baby body, and I wanted to do something special, but I don't know where we're going, so if it's not right I can go change."

"Edie, you're perfect," Anthony breathed, still looking a little stricken.

Edith melted into a giddy smile and dropped her head as he moved to help her into her coat.

"Did you say goodbye to Isobel?" Edith checked as they moved out the door.

"Of course."

"And, we're not venturing too far are we? I mean, I'm not worried but—"

Anthony cut her off, wrapping his arm around her waist as they walked to the car. "Not too far, and I know you're worried, but for once I'm telling you we'll be fine. And we'll be home in time for Belle's feeding so you won't need to pump."

"Oh, do talk about more my breast milk, darling, it's so romantic," Edith pleaded sarcastically.

"You had romance on the agenda tonight? Pity. I wish you would have told me," he said dryly, earning a pinch from his wife.

Dinner was at one of the finer restaurants in Grantham, not overly pretentious but utterly delectable. When the server said, "Your dinner will be up right away, Dr. Strallan," Edith frowned at him suspiciously.

"No menus?" she asked.

"No, pre-ordered," he said, trying his best to remain aloof.

"I'm intrigued," she said. She didn't have to wait long, however, when the waiter brought a loaf of French bread and a block of cheese, farm-fresh from Ireland, on a wood cutting board, and two bowls of beef stew.

"Beef stew?" she asked quietly, looking at the table.

"The first dinner we ever shared," Anthony explained, beginning to wonder if perhaps he should have ordered lobster tail or steak tartare or something more elaborate.

"I know that, you idiot. It's lovely." When she looked up at him he could see in her eyes his idea was a success.

"I do love it when you use those endearing little pet names for me," he joked, digging in.

They laughed through much of the meal, and talked. They talked now like they had that first night, as if there wasn't enough time in the world to say all they had to say to one another. Of course, the majority of their conversations now ended back at thoughts of their daughter.

"Well," Edith sighed after a while. "I'm fairly stuffed, but I may just have room for something sinful. Did you order dessert as well, my oh-so-thorough husband?"

As if on cue, the server brought out a pint of balsamic ice cream from Murphy's.

"How in the world did you get ice cream shipped from Dublin?" Edith shrieked, not bothering with the chilled bowl and scoop but digging straight into the carton.

"I am a man of many talents, sweet one."

"Mmm, I'll say," she agreed seductively, pressing her knee against his under the table.

"If I'd known a little pint of ice cream would get you in the mood, I'd have had the cellar freezer stocked a long time ago." To this Edith laughed heartily before getting distracted by what was arguably the best ice cream in the world.

Dinner was followed by a stroll through their own orchards, where they ended up at a bench in a small and intimate little alcove created by some plum trees that had grown together. Not quite being summer, Edith had her coat on and Anthony's over her lap, his arms enfolding her.

"I feel like Jane being embraced by Rochester in the garden," she sighed, nuzzling into him. Then laughing at herself she added, "You make me say the most maudlin things."

"It's a fine book. No shame in referencing. Speaking of books," he said, as though the thought had just occurred to him. Edith sat up as he reached for something under the bench.

"What is it?" she asked, confused.

"Your gift," he answered, presenting a small box wrapped in gold and ivory.

"This was planted here?! How did you know I'd want to walk in the orchards? What if I had asked just to go straight home?" she demanded playfully, fingering the package with delight.

"Darling, this may be our first anniversary, but it is not my first date with you."

"Well what is it?" she asked, holding the gift in her lap.

Anthony frowned at her and laughed. "Well the easiest way to know that might be to open it, love."

As Edith pulled gingerly at the ribbon and slid a finger under the seam of the wrapping he explained, "It seems I'm quite missed at the English department, and still able to pull some favors. Even from the press, if you can believe it."

Edith had no idea what he was talking about until she unfolded some tissue paper to reveal a beautifully bound, hardback book. The image on the jacket was a silhouette of a bird on the branches of a tree, some leaves falling, and the branches spelled the words "September Song." Edith ran her fingers reverently over the embossed, curling letters at the bottom that read "Edith Crawley Strallan."

"Oh, oh god," she stuttered, "Oh, Anthony."

"I was so proud when I got this from Reggie Swire at the University Press I almost didn't wait to give it to you. This is the very first copy that came off the press." Anthony was beaming, both from his own triumph and his wife's.

"Anthony," Edith squeaked, pitching her arms around his neck.

"I'm so, so proud of you my love. Really and truly, I don't know where you came from, but you are remarkable."

Edith ignored his flattery, having learned long ago it's best not to argue with him however over-generous he was with his praise. Instead, she ran her nose affectionately along his jaw and kissed his ear. After a few moments of quiet, warm nuzzling and murmured affections, Edith was of a mind to reward her husband for an anniversary well-done.

"Thank you, for everything," she said, setting his coat and the book aside to straddle him in one fluid motion.

"Edith, you wild girl, whatever am I going to do with you?" he asked in mock exasperation.

"I have a few ideas," she said, nibbling his ear and stealthily reaching between them for his trousers. Just as Edith had learned not to question Anthony's praise, he had learned that to rebuff his wife's advances was generally a futile effort.

"What would Jane and Rochester say?" he teased, helping Edith with her nickers at her insistence as she leaned up.

"Mm, well if they knew you like I did they wouldn't judge."

"Darling, no one knows me like you do," he said, though his sentence was rather stilted as Edith took him in hand.

"Anthony, what you said at dinner, about being a man of many," she groaned as she sank on to him, "Mm—talents."

"Ye-yes?" he asked, pressing his head to her shoulder as she gripped his neck, rolling her hips against him.

"It's true," she said, fighting the urge to whimper as they moved together, Anthony doing what he could to thrust up with Edith's weight pinning him to the bench.

"If, if you, mmm, say so," he muttered, his hands roaming the bare skin of her back beneath her coat.

"You are an above-average golfer," Edith began, causing Anthony to frown at her strange choice of subject even as she tightened her muscles around him. "You speak three languages. You can cook better than most men, I'd say."

"Edith, where—what the hell are you talking about?" he asked as kindly as he could manage.

She wanted the timing of this to be perfect. Picking up her speed and working her thighs to get more out of each up and down motion, she continued. "You've a talent for being a husband, patient and attentive, and you're good to your family, our family. You've a talent for seeing my every need, even before I do."

"Eed," he groaned, and she felt that he was close, his hands digging into her hips and his movements becoming more erratic. Sensing her own climax, she kissed him deeply. That did the trick.

Just as they came, together and climactically, Edith added, "And you've a talent for getting me pregnant, it seems."

Riding out their release, Edith felt Anthony's body still long before his heart did. He stared blankly at her heaving chest for a moment, mouth slightly parted. He was still inside her when Edith bent her head, forcing him to make eye contact with her.

"You're—that's what you meant, right? That we're?" he tried.

Edith, the devious little minx that she was, enjoyed the challenge of trying to perplex her almost too-brilliant husband. Taking in his ragged breathing and rather dazed expression, she began to wonder if perhaps the announcement and the lovemaking simultaneously was a bad case of overkill.

"Sorry, I suppose I should have told you when you had a little more…composure," she muttered.

"But I thought," he said, reaffirming his grip on her hips, "I thought that breast feeding made that impossible."

"Wives tale," she shrugged. "I should have warned you. Especially since we seem to be setting some kind of record as the single most sexually active married couple in history."

They watched each other a while longer, the news still sinking in.

"Anthony," Edith prodded gently, finally kneeling up and releasing him. His mind seemed a little slow at the moment, so she took the liberty of tucking him in and doing up his trousers. "You're starting to make me nervous, and that's not easily done these days."

"Oh, oh my sweet girl, I'm sorry," he said, "I was just surprised. I am surprised. It's soon."

"You're telling me. I literally just got my waist back to its original size."

"I'm rather fond of your waist at any size."

"Even pregnant, all stretched and huge?"

"Especially then," Anthony smiled, kissing her sweetly.

"You're pleased?" she asked, unable to hide the hope and need in her expression.

"Oh, honey," he heaved, pulling her tight against him, "Oh, it's just… brilliant. Can I expect this every year? I mean, so far we're two-for-two."

"Maybe, at least for another five or six years," she giggled, kissing his cheek.

"Mmm," he agreed, "Or perhaps just go until we fill all 34 rooms?"

"Capital idea, Dr. Strallan."

"Speaking of children, I'm suddenly quite eager to check on the one we already have."

"Agreed," Edith sighed, removing herself from his lap and straightening her clothes.

Back in the house, Edith asked Anthony if he might grab some snacks and meet her upstairs. "Between feeding one child and growing another, I might eat us into poverty," she laughed.

Setting a tray of fruit, crackers, and cheese in their room, Anthony snuck into their daughter's room to find his wife. Edith had already changed from her dress into some lilac pajama bottoms and a white camisole. She was standing at the far window, lit by the moon and the dim nightlight by the crib. Isobel was in her arms, nursing, and Edith was humming as she swayed left to right, humming. And there was something about her delicate hands, the rings on her finger, and the way they looked, holding his child.

The silver-blue of the moonlight cast against Edith's pale skin giving her a ridiculously ethereal effect. Anthony watched her in complete awe, as if she were a ghost, or an angel. He thought of her book, a renewed pride surging through him, and of the titular story.

September Song, the story of two ghosts, wandering the world, unseen and alone, unaware of what they're missing until they find each other.

Anthony's heart fairly ached with the poetry of it all, of what Edith had cultivated in his life. And, no mistake, it was indeed poetry. From the first moment she stepped into his office, not even two years ago, he was changed. She brought Gertrude home, brought him children, infinite loyalty and goodness and love.

"Are you feeling sappy again?" Edith asked in a teasing whisper, bouncing their daughter—his Belle, his beauty—against her shoulder to wind her.

"Sadly, yes. You've caught me," he said, though his voice cracked. Edith laughed through her nose, handing a now sleeping Isobel off to him.

After a few moments—Anthony watching his daughter, Edith watching him—she leaned in to wrap herself into his chest beside their child and asked, "What are you thinking?"

Anthony looked down at his Edith, his thumb running affectionate circles on her shoulder, and searched for the words. All they had been through, all they had changed, all they had become together. He thought back to those first moments of their meeting and compared the image to this, their family, and said the only words that could possibly express it all.

"How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart."

* * *

A/N: That's it, dear readers! (Sorry for the over-abundance of fluff here at the end.) I can't believe this story stretched as long as it did. Even more remarkable is that you, dear friends, stuck with me through the whole thing! Thank you, thank you so much for all the reviews, PMs, and support. I still feel fairly new to the FanFiction world and you've all just made it so pleasant. I love our little Andith community, and I can't wait for all of your stories to keep coming.

I have another Edith/Anthony story in the works-not nearly as long and quite different in tone but it will be a few weeks. I'm 17 days from graduating with my MFA (but who's counting?) so summer will be grand.

Thanks again,  
Eleanor


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